


Consummation of the Soul

by mr-finch (soubriquet)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Murder, Necrophilia, Ownership, biter gore, dubcon, jerking off, noncon, philip is a bad bad man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-15 21:52:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 79,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12329601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soubriquet/pseuds/mr-finch
Summary: The Governor meets the Winter Soldier long before he goes to Woodbury.“Better lose your life than your soul.”― Louisa May Alcott





	1. Cooped

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a long time in the making, but I have to publish it in this raw, unedited form or else I never will.
> 
>   
> ― © [dorkbait](http://dorkbait.tumblr.com/)  
>  
> 
> _He did not wear his scarlet coat,_  
>  _For blood and wine are red,_  
>  _And blood and wine were on his hands_  
>  _When they found him with the dead_
> 
> \- Oscar Wilde, The Ballad of Reading Gaol

The first few days of the apocalypse were like a dream.

They weren’t real. Glass broke under your feet as you ran; gunshots echoed in the distance, above your head; people screamed almost as often as they breathed.

That was in the cities. The cities were where it all began.

Not the Governor yet - only a man named Philip Blake - a figure stood crouched in an alleyway next to a convenience store, listening. There were low voices inside and the scramble of boxes and packets going into bags. He touched the gun strapped to his waistband and hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.

The voices rose and fell, then something inside dropped to the ground with a crash. The shouts grew louder, and then a group of people were running out into the street, dragging the attention of the walking dead with them.

Philip Blake waited, breathing as slowly as he could.

Growling with lust, the dead lurched after them, attracted to the noise and the smell of their sweat. Philip knew about that. It was why he had to keep calm.

The group disappeared into a side street and he heard more gunfire follow. It worked. The bodies still clustered around the outside of the store turned in their direction and moved as one towards the sound. He waited until they were across the road, then sidled around the wall and picked his way carefully into the store.

Most of the shelves were cleared out, covered in debris, or broken, but it was still early days. People hadn’t had the time to take everything. Philip headed down the aisle, slinging his rucksack down off his shoulder and opening the main compartment.

There were snack foods at the backs of the shelves and tins on their sides - mostly the kind of products that people would have looked at and put back just last week. Apparently the apocalypse hadn’t changed people’s attitudes towards lentil soup.

He shoved it all in his rucksack, picked up a dozen or so lighters from the smashed counter and took a bag of tea-light candles that someone had dropped by the door. He was about to leave when he caught sight of a bottle half-covered by plywood and glass, with a bright blue label on the side of it.

Pushing the mess aside with one gloved hand, he picked up the box, reading the description: IBUPROFEN TABLETS, 200 MG. PAIN RELIEVER & FEVER REDUCER. WALGREENS PHARMACIST RECOMMENDED.

_Thanks, Walgreens,_ he thought, smiling, as he pocketed the bottle.

There wasn’t much to see in the city anymore. The government had bombed the shit out of it a week or so ago, which had taken care of some of the dead, but most of them still wandered the streets, flesh melted to their skulls like a brand.

It was those he was looking to avoid. Slinging his rucksack back over his shoulder, Philip peered out of the store, checking for passersby.

The coast was clear, so he picked his way through the broken glass and tucked back into the alleyway, heading home.

Home was a boarded-up apartment in the suburbs of Atlanta, Georgia. It was inaccessible from the first floor, the only way in being through a skylight from the roof next door. It was a pain in the ass to get to sometimes, but the extra safety was worth it for Penny.

He heard her singing as he came in, while he balanced precariously on the back of the sofa in order to shut the skylight behind him.

The singing abruptly stopped. “Daddy?”

"It’s me, princess," Philip said, and heard her get up and run in to see him. "Let daddy close the skylight, now."

She hugged his leg as soon as he stepped down to the floor, and he crounched down to hug her back. She was always worried when he left. He had never heard her make a sound without him before.

"I brought you candy," he said, smiling, and her eyes lit up. He reached into his rucksack and took out what he had found - peanut butter chocolate, late easter eggs, and an assortment of colourful sour strips that kids seemed to love to chew on these days.

"Now, what do you say?" he asked her, watching her eyes go wide at the assortment of treats.

She looked up at him, taller than her even when he was crouched on the floor, and clasped her hands together. “Pleeeeeease!”

"Alright," he said, getting to his feet. "I’ll put them on the table and you can pick one for after dinner. Okay?"

"Okay!" she squeaked, and leapt up onto the chair.

He made them lentil soup for dinner with a box of cheesy crackers on the side and Penny ate every last drop. She hadn’t always been good about food, but their recent shortage and the promise of sugary desserts had given her a new opinion on beans and lentils.

She looked at him insistently as her spoon clattered to a halt in her bowl.

"Go ahead, pumpkin," he said, and she grabbed a Reese’s Piece off the counter, hopping down from the table.

"What do you say?" he called after her as she ran out of the room.

"Thank-youuuuuuuu!"

Philip stayed inside with her all of the next day, and the next. She had commandeered the bookshelf in one of the apartment’s rooms and he would walk in to find books with wide white covers spread out at the end of her bed. Sometimes she even drew on the pages.

She was ecstatic to have him around. It almost felt like home, but for the fact that the house didn’t belong to them and the odd meals. Sometimes in the evening he would crack a curtain open and watch the dead wander around outside, just to see what they did.

He never let Penny look, though, and she seemed happy not to. No matter how long it lasted, she was okay just here, and had nothing in her mind but books. He hoped it lasted.

 

-

 

Leaving her was unavoidable in the end. Penny woke up in the night with a cough, and Philip was seized by a fear so strong that she could die from something they had nothing for, that he strapped on his boots that morning and got ready to face the streets.

"You’re sick, pumpkin," he said, to a scared Penny in her bed. "You need medicine."

He rubbed her forehead with his thumb and kissed it for good measure. ”I won’t be long. If you get scared, you do what I told you, okay?”

"Okay."

"And if you hear anything strange, do you remember where to go?"

Penny nodded. “There,” she said, pointing with the finger not in her mouth.

"That’s right. In the closet. You’ll race in there as fast as a bird-" his fingertips waved up and down over her nose, "-and as quiet as a mouse-" He brought his index to his lips in a _shhh._

She giggled, but her face dropped as he backed up. “Daddy?” she said, when he was almost at the door.

"Yes, Pen?"

"What if you don’t come back?"

He paused for a moment, then turned to look at her. “I always do,” he said, softly. “You remember that. I always do.”

 

-

 

He went a different way this time, stopping at every junction with his hand hovering just above the butt of his gun.

The dead weren’t too thick on the way into the city. Sometimes the street ahead would be filled and he would have to find a way around, but mostly he made his way through without incident. You couldn’t come out in the dark around here: they couldn’t see you, but you couldn’t see _them_ either, and they could trip you up or bite you out of the darkness.

Walgreens was only two blocks away when he saw the group from the other day again. They were around five strong - one woman, four men, and heavily armed. He crept up behind a dumpster and watched them in the alleyway catercorner to his.

A man with an impressive widow’s peak had a map open and was pointing to it and talking at length to his companions. Talking for so long was dangerous out here, and almost immediately Philip saw a shape start to stumble towards them from the street.

Abruptly, the man stopped talking and all four of the rest drew their guns. The woman took a quick glance around, then pushed the others aside and stepped forward, plunging her knife into the dead man’s head. It slid to a gargling halt on her knife and fell to the ground when she withdrew it.

As if on cue, the entire party returned to the map, and Philip began to wonder how long he would have to stay here, before they packed it all up and started off up the street between them, heading away from him. They were clearly not going to Walgreens.

The store was mercifully empty of people, but the bare shelves were not so welcoming. Philip looked through the store for as long as he dared, but the pharmacy had been picked clean of anything medically useful, and all that remained were a few packets of gum, five condoms and an entire arsenal of women’s razors.

Even the floor held nothing for him. Philip touched the bottle of ibuprofen in his pocket and felt a sweat spring up between his shoulder blades. He had to get out of there; he needed to look elsewhere. He needed to—

A snarl broke through his thoughts, and Philip looked up to see a very old, very dead woman staggering through the shop door. Her grey hair was pasted to her skull in a mess of red and brown and one of her fingers was missing. She reached out to him as he saw her, planting her feet firmly on the pharmacy floor as she marched towards him.

He unstuck and grabbed his gun, but it hit him too late that a noise like that would trap him in here, and he dropped it, turning tail and hurrying to put an aisle between them.

She swung at him as he ran by on the other side, teeth clacking, and he sped out of the store like she was running straight after him. More of them saw him in the street and turned, making their strangled noises at the smell of him. He bolted down that alleyway, and the next, and only stopped to rest when he came to where the group had looked at their map together.

His heart was a jackhammer and his hands were shaking. _He had lost the gun._ He had lost the ability to protect himself and his daughter, and Penny, Penny would have nothing for her cough—

He zeroed in on the alley where he had hidden to watch the group talk. If he could only get there, and then home, then he could think and get himself together. He knew the way back.

Slowly, his blood tumbling, his heartbeat slowed and he forced himself to watch the street carefully, waiting until the right moment to cross.

When at last there were none nearby, he stole across the road and into the shadow of the buildings on the other side. He had just started to take a breath when he heard a growl nearby, so close that he almost lost the breath before he could take it.

There was one right behind the dumpster. Right where he had been. It wasn’t making much noise, but maybe it just hadn’t noticed him yet.

He bent down and took hold of a hubcap that had been discarded next to the dumpster, clutching it in his right hand until his knuckles turned white. He crept around the side, holding it ready, and slowly the creature came into view. It was stuck, or- busy, with something behind the dumpster, and Philip crept out a little further without really meaning to. He was pulling the hubcap back in preparation to use it, when he saw a hand sticking out between the dead thing’s legs.

All reason ceased to mean anything, then, and he threw the hubcap forward, grabbing hold of the dead man’s shoulder and beating it in the head. It turned to him with a growl and he shoved it sideways and fell on top of it, punching it in the jaw with a wet _crack._ His hands searched for the hubcap and he picked it up with both, then slammed it into the dead thing’s face, and then it was _really_ dead, oozing rotten flesh and bone.

Breathing hard, he looked around for the body it had been eating off, and found it all too soon - it had its back to the dumpster and was staring off into space like it hadn’t even known it was being eaten.

It had a deep bite wound in its shoulder and looked to be a young man - well, relatively - it was hard to tell, with chin length black hair and blood everywhere. Philip heaved a sigh, then leaned over, hand raised to close the man’s eyes.

As he touched him, the man flinched, and Philip jumped so hard he hit his knee on the side of the dumpster. “Whathehell?!” he said, scrambling backwards, then, when the man didn’t move any further, he stared at him, waiting for more.

Nothing. Maybe he had just been imagining things. If it hadn’t been for that flinch, he would have thought the man was dead.

"Are you alive?" Philip asked, softly, then chided himself internally when that elicited no response. Of course he wasn’t. The man was dead.

He squinted into the dumpster’s shadow, trying to see him better, and suddenly when he looked that hard he could see it: the man was breathing.

"Well, I’ll be damned," he said, watching the rise and fall of the man’s chest. He couldn’t be one of them. Not yet. The dead didn’t breathe.

He was wearing all black, but it wasn’t a fashion statement. Philip’s older brother had been in the military and he knew combat gear when he saw it. “You some kind of soldier?” he asked, and for a moment the man’s eyes flashed to his, before fading back out and going elsewhere again.

"If you are, you know you’re going to die," Philip said, watching him more closely. "You’re gonna become one of them. That’s what the bite does."

No response. Not even a flicker.

"I can’t help you - I’m not a doctor, but if you wanna go, I suggest you go quick. The fever isn’t pleasant."

Nothing.

Philip sighed. “There’s a gun about five blocks that way. I dropped it in the middle of Walgreens. If one of them doesn’t grab you on the way there, you’re good to go.”

He got gingerly to his feet, stepping over the mess that he had made, then took one last look at the man. “Well, good luck.”

When he glanced back at the end of the alleyway, he could still see the hunched shape of the man huddled in his own blood.

 

-

 

He conceded defeat three hours later, rubbing guts off his sleeve onto the nearest wall. The swell of the dead had only grown in the days he had spent inside. They kept growing, like the explosions had meant nothing, and there were more and more of them out on the streets.

He had only the bottle of ibuprofen and a box of bandaids, plus a six-pack of bottled water he had shoved hurriedly in his bag as the dead closed in. It was too hot, even this early in the summer, and he needed to get home. He needed to stop and think about his next move.

Penny wasn’t singing when he climbed through the skylight this time, and he went straight to her room to find her still in bed with her forehead just a bit warm to the touch.

"Hey," he said, as she stirred. "How you feeling, pumpkin?"

Her little arms stretched and her hands balled into fists at the end. She started coughing almost immediately upon waking and he watched her with his hand on her forehead, concern tightening his brow.

"You stay right there, okay? Daddy’ll make you some food."

Philip brought her baked beans and a can of tinned bread on a little tray, half of which he broke off to eat himself on a cushion next to her bed. She sat up and spooned them into her mouth hungrily, and he felt a little better.

When she had finished, he took the tray away and opened the bottle of ibuprofen, shaking one of the tablets into his hand. “Now this-” he said, holding the little white pill between thumb and forefinger, “Is special medicine for coughs. Normally they only give them to adults, but sometimes, very rarely, they give them to the little girls who need them most.”

She made a face at him and he smiled. “C’mon now.” He opened his hand and revealed a Reese’s Cup, which he broke apart, popping the pill into the biggest half. He held it out to her. “All you’ll taste is peanut butter.”

She looked at him warily, but the cold was clearly taking away some of her willpower, and she took it from him, chewing it slowly.

"Blergh," she said, as the pill broke apart in her mouth, but she swallowed it anyway and Philip felt a flash of pride for her right in his core.

"There you go," he said, and handed Penny her water. "Drink up. I won’t go anywhere, okay?"

"Okay," she said, softly, and drank down half the glass, watching him like she wasn’t quite sure he’d make good on that promise.

 

-

 

He woke to the sound of Penny’s screams at some dark point in the night, wrenched awake like his heart had been pulled right out. He looked around, disorientated, and realised that he had fallen asleep still sitting next to her.

She was no longer in her bed.

He reached for his gun - gone - then scrambled to his feet, hitting his shin on the bed frame as he raced out of the room.

The curtains were wide open and the moonlight lit up Penny’s face in the darkness. She was still screaming and Philip swept her up, whirling around for the intruder, already planning to shut her in the bedroom, to run, to fight, to hide—

"What is it, sweetheart? What’s wrong? What hurt you?"

She stopped screaming to take a breath, and then Philip noticed it. Her eyes were locked onto him: a familiar shape, standing quite still outside in front of their house.

He was staring down at his feet, but Philip _knew he had been-_ “He was looking at me, Daddy! Like he wanted to hurt me!”

Penny started sobbing into his shoulder, coughing too, and Philip stared down at the man outside, knowing that he knew he was here.

"It’s okay," he said, half to himself, then: "What do you want, Pen?"

"I want him to go away!" she shrieked, and then the tears came back, and he watched the man stand still in the moonlight in the middle of the road.

"Okay," he said, after a while, and Penny stopped mid-sob, turning to look at him. "You don’t need to worry, princess. Daddy’ll take care of it."

She had gone eerily silent, the only sound her rough breathing and the touch of her gaze. Like she knew something.

"Now I don’t want you watching anymore, okay?" Philip said, and finally met her eyes. "Why’d you open the curtain?"

Penny wouldn’t say anything, just clung there in his arms and put her thumb in her mouth.

"You know it’s scary out there," he said, and drew the backs of his fingers across her brow. "But you’re safe in here. You’ll always be safe in here, okay? Okay, Pen?"

She moved her thumb just enough out of the way that she could reply. “‘Kay.”

"Good." He set her down, gently, on the floor, and put his hand on her back. "Now, let’s take you back to bed. Leave the scary man to me."

"What are you going to do, dad?" she said, when she had climbed in, and it took him a little by surprise.

He looked at her and told her the truth. “We’re going to have a little talk.”

 

-

 

He took the kitchen knife with him when he stepped outside. It seemed only sensible.

The climb across to the neighbour’s roof and downwards seemed much longer than usual, but Philip had a feeling the man wouldn’t move. Or, if he did, it wouldn’t be very far. After all, he was waiting for Philip.

It turned out the man hadn’t moved an inch from the middle of the road.

"You’re not dead, _are_ you?” Philip said, announcing his presence. Half the dead in the area perked up at his voice and mumbled amongst themselves, lurching over.

The man still didn’t speak, but this time he raised his head and looked - well, not at Philip, but in his near vicinity, like he couldn’t quite make eye contact.

"The last time I saw you, you _looked_ pretty dead,” Philip continued, and came closer, watching the real dead slowly make their way towards them in his peripheral vision.

"Why are you here?" he said, and the man reached into his back pocket, drawing out a gun. A familiar gun. A very familiar gun.

He had tensed when the man began to move, but on seeing what gun it was, Philip threw back his head and laughed. “You went to _Walgreens?_ After everything I said? Oh man.”

He held out his hand and the man obediently handed the gun over, which Philip inspected in the moonlight like a dragon welcoming back a little part of its hoard. “You haven’t used it.” He tilted his head at the man. “Didn’t you need to?”

The dead were louder now, less than twenty feet away and burning with the desire to kill them. He couldn’t say it for sure, but they seemed to be moving more towards Philip than they were to his acquaintance.

He gave the man one last look - the long, unkempt hair; the strange combat clothes; the deferent look in his eyes that hadn’t been there earlier - then turned his back on him, moving back towards his house.

"Kill them all," he said, waving a hand, as if it was only an afterthought.

He climbed down from the skylight and cracked open the door to check in on Penny. She was pretending to be asleep, trying to ignore the wet, roaring sounds from outside and convince herself he hadn’t been out there with them.

"It’s okay, pumpkin," he murmured, so that she could hear it. "He’s gone."

He saw her shoulders relax just a little and he pulled the door closed again, sighing a very deep sigh.

When he turned back to the living room and saw the man standing still on the other side, he staggered sideways, clutching at the wall. He made no sound but his outpouring of breath, and neither did the man, stood exactly as he had been in the street, now with the added colour of the dead on him.

When he could speak, Philip waited a moment longer, then walked over to him. He put his finger to his lips - like the man had said a word - then pointed to the couch at the far end of the room.

Silently, the man moved over there and sat when Philip indicated it. Philip took a chair from the dining table and picked it up, setting it down on the carpet just opposite the man.

"We are gonna _have_ to figure out a way to communicate if you’re going to keep turning up like this,” he said, staring at him. He glanced around for something to write with. “Do you need a pen? Paper?”

Slowly, the man shook his head.

"Then if you can speak, speak quietly," Philip said. "My daughter’s asleep in the other room."

The man raised his eyes just slightly towards him, as if trying to work something out, then finally spoke. “Targets eliminated,” he said.

His voice was smooth and- almost lyrical. Totally unnatural for the unkempt black-clad thing he saw before him. It was- weird.

"What targets?" Philip said, then thought. "The biters?"

The man nodded, and Philip’s eyes drew once again to the splattering of gore all up the man’s arms.

"All of them?"

The man nodded. He looked a little pale.

Leaning forward in his chair, Philip steepled his fingers. “When did you last eat?”

The man thought for a moment. “Seventy-four hours ago.”

"Jesus."

He got up, running a hand through his hair, and went to have a look at their food supplies, even though he knew the content of every last packet in there. He picked out nearly the exact same meal he and Penny had eaten a few hours previous and set about making it with his back to the man.

He didn’t think Penny would wake up now. She was a good sleeper, she was, and ibuprofen always made _him_ drowsy.

When he had made it and set it on a tray, he brought it over to the couch and gave it to the man. “Eat.”

The man tucked in at speed, but still minded his manners, using both utensils and making sure not to spill a drop. He was so clearly ravenous that Philip wondered what he _had_ found to eat before.

When he had finished, he sat there with his knife and fork perfectly placed on his plate and waited for Philip to do something.

"I’m not your mama. Put it in the sink already."

The man took the tray and stood up, doing just that. He seemed to fare better with instruction.

There was no water to wash up with, otherwise Philip had a feeling he would have done that too. Instead, the man turned at the sink and glanced over, meeting Philip’s eyes. He quickly looked away again, seeming if anything more pale.

"You’re filthy," Philip said, matter-of-fact. "It’s too late to wash, but go and swap those clothes you’re wearing for something in the other room. Last tenant must’ve been near my size, but they’ll fit you."

The man looked near him, unmoving, and Philip pointed. “There.”

_There_ was the master bedroom, where Philip had been sleeping on and off ever since he and Penny had arrived here. The previous owner had a whole chest of drawers full of button-ups, polo shirts and way too many pairs of pants. Philip had been helping himself where he saw fit.

The man disappeared into the bedroom and came out a short while later looking slightly swamped in a grey t-shirt and pants. He smelt better, and Philip feared for his room, but that wasn’t what caught his attention.

Out of the shoulder of his left sleeve, the man had a long, silvery arm that shined in the candlelight of the room.

Philip blinked, and realised it hadn’t been visible under the long sleeves of the man’s combat gear, but still wondered how he could have not noticed. It had plates that made him think of an empty ammunition belt, but seemed almost too well-made to be metal.

"Let me see that," Philip said, and the man came closer, presenting his arm like that was a frequent request.

It was cool to the touch and definitely metal, though it ran all the way up to his shoulder in a stunning imitation of a real arm. He even had a wrist and hand, with fingers that seemed moveable enough.

Philip let him go and sat back in his chair, watching the man stand there.

"Take off your shirt," he said.

The man didn’t hesitate, reaching for the base of his t-shirt and hiking it over his head in a display that demonstrated his arm was much more flexible than Philip had thought.

The t-shirt dropped to the floor and Philip scrutinised his front, then waved his fingers in a circle and the man turned to show him his back too.

Unsatisfied, Philip got to his feet again and came over towards him. He put his hands on the man’s shoulder and searched his skin, looking for the bite that he knew must be there: the gaping wound that had soaked blood into the shadow of the dumpster.

There was nothing to so much as suggest that he had been moments from death, nor any hint of a surgical intervention. Instead, the skin where the bite had been was - yes, bruised as hell, but waxy, alive, and covered in dried blood.

Still unwilling to rest with that, Philip touched the back of his hand to the man’s forehead. It was slightly damp, but otherwise cool and held no signs of a fever at all.

He stepped back and looked at him, then growled a laugh. “You’re one lucky son of a bitch.”

The man only looked past his ear and said nothing.


	2. Hypomanic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I walked, with other souls in pain,_   
>  _Within another ring,_   
>  _And was wondering if the man had done_   
>  _A great or little thing,_   
>  _When a voice behind me whispered low,_   
>  _“That fellows got to swing.”_
> 
> \- Oscar Wilde, The Ballad Of Reading Gaol

Before Penny woke the next morning, Philip got up to see to their guest. He was still laid out on the couch in almost exactly the same position Philip had left him in, curled up facing away from the room. Philip knew from looking at him though, like he’d known with Penny, that the man was awake.

He rubbed toothpaste in his mouth and spat it out in the sink, taking the plates and cutlery from the night before and stacking them next to it. They never used bottled water for washing up. It was a waste.

"If you’re awake," he said, rolling up his sleeves, "We should talk."

The man sat up, turning to place his feet on the floor. He remained on the couch, and Philip noticed that the blanket he had left beside it in the night had not been touched.

He came towards the man and sat down in the chair facing him.

"You need to leave," he said, folding his hands together.

The man started to get up immediately, but Philip shook his head just a little and he sat back down.

"I have a job for you," Philip said. "A task."

The man didn’t move, but Philip knew that he had heard him.

"We need to gather supplies. Medication, for now and for the future. Food, too, but start with the medication."

Philip held up the bottle of ibuprofen and rattled it. “Cough syrup, for kids - you know what that is?”

The man nodded.

"Find that. And anything for a fever. Pharmacies, malls; take it from people’s houses, I don’t care."

He was getting better at reading the man’s silences. This one meant that he was poised to go.

"And get yourself some soap or something. You look awful."

Philip got to his feet and eyed the skylight above them. “Well,” he said, “Get on with it.”

Without a word, the man stood up and went to the table, hopping onto it and up through the skylight as if it took no effort at all.

 

-

 

"Honey," Philip said, a few hours later when Penny had risen. "We have a guest staying with us."

She yawned, wide, and rubbed her fists against her eyes, before sitting down at the kitchen table. “Uhhhm,” she said.

"Eat your cereal," Philip prompted her. "Daddy’ll talk."

"Okay," she said, sleepily, and set about spooning cereal into her mouth.

He had a black notebook open at the table. It had a plain leather cover and lined pages within it that Philip had begun to fill up with comments, drawings and lists. He now had a whole page dedicated to the man with the silver arm.

"He’s going to be staying with us for a while," he said, reading and flipping his pen between the fingers of his right hand. "He can help us get medicine and supplies that we need. And-"

He reached over and brushed the side of his index finger against Penny’s cheek. “He can help protect you.”

She made a face and giggled, pulling away.

Philip gazed at her, enchanted, wondering how even now she could be so carefree. “Don’t you want to know more about him?”

She put her spoon in her bowl and looked up at him, and he saw himself in her then. “Can he get me some pop rocks?”

Philip grinned. “Of course, sweetheart. You tell him.”

Penny squeaked in delight and gulped down the rest of her cereal, then got down from the table and put her bowl next to the sink. She ran past him to get back to her room and Philip ruffled her hair as she went by, until she disappeared into the room and started coughing so hard his heart wanted to fall out.

_You better come back,_ he thought, carving the plated shoulder of the man into the notebook. _You better had._

 

-

 

It was late afternoon and the sun had just began to set when a rush of air breathed down the back of Philip’s neck. He had only time to turn and grab Penny before she screamed, leaping back into him and clawing at his waist.

The man stood before them in the living room, carrying a hoard of bags.

"Shut that skylight," he said to the man. "Hush now," he said to Penny, bending down and hugging her, so that she had somewhere for her fear to go. "Don’t be afraid. This is the man I was telling you about."

"B-but he’s the-" Penny turned to look over her shoulder and shrieked, burying her head in Philip’s neck again.

"I know you saw him before, but listen-" he motioned to the couch with his head and the man immediately went over and sat down. "He was sent here to protect you. He didn’t mean to scare anyone, he was only doing what he was supposed to do. Okay?"

Her shoulders were shaking and her tiny fists clung to his clothes like hooks. She shook her head fiercely against his chest.

Philip sighed. “Alright, okay. Look.”

He gave a signal to the man again - his hand, palm flat and held straight towards him in a firm _Stay._

Philip got to his feet with Penny gasping and clutching onto his hand. She swarmed behind him, half-hidden in the disappearing light and his clothes. He took them over to the bags that the man had left in the middle of the floor, and knelt beside one of them.

"Which of these has food?" he asked.

The man pointed to the bag on his left and Philip turned towards that one, placing Penny’s hand gently on his shoulder so that he could open it. He could feel her staring at the man on the couch from just behind him.

The bag unzipped easily and he took hold of both sides of it, surprised at how heavy it was, and upended it on the floor. Food spilled out - tins upon tins, packets of noodles, vending machine stashes, even a few hardy vegetables that had survived two weeks of airtime.

Penny let go of his shirt in surprise and even Philip was too shocked to say anything for a moment. He looked up, not sure what he would see, but expecting - what else - pride? Smugness? A contented look in his eye?

Nothing. The man was as dead-eyed and still as ever. There was no outward acknowledgement that he was being looked at, save for an ever so slight hint of sweat shining on his forehead. Philip didn’t think it was from exertion.

"You did good," he said, from the floor. "Good."

Gathering himself back to reality, he spoke to Penny, still a little absently. “What do you say, honey?”

He heard a faint, unsure: “Thank you,” from behind him and felt better.

"Can you find the cough syrup?" he asked the man, and then stood up, walking with Penny to the kitchen counter with a few of the tins. He just needed a second to come back to himself.

"Daddy? Daddy?"

There were a few tugs on his shirt, and Philip looked down. “What is it, sweetie?”

"What’s his name?" she asked him, in a rather ridiculous stage whisper.

It suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea what the man called himself. He had not even seen fit to give him a pseudonym.

Philip glanced over at the man, thoughtfully, and weighed up a few options. “Well,” he said, “He’s helpful, isn’t he? And strong. And you can trust him, because he isn’t a stranger: he was sent here.”

"I think we’ll call him Asset," he said, eventually. "Do you know what that means?"

Penny shook her head, holding her elbows with either hand.

"It means someone who will do anything he can to help us," he said. "Someone who has nowhere else to go."

"Like us?" Penny said.

"No, sweetheart," Philip replied. "We’re exactly where we need to be."

 

-

 

He took them north, to the Chattahoochee river, and they brought with them their dirty kitchen utensils and what the Asset had found for them to clean with.

They took a car to avoid the biters and packed the trunk full. It was going to be a good day out.

"Ever been to the Chattahoochee?" Philip asked the Asset, in high spirits as he drove. "I have. It’s a pretty place - right Pen?"

"Uhuh!" she squeaked from the backseat.

"You’ll love it," Philip said, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as if to some imaginary song.

He parked in a small, dirt-ground car park next to a deserted hut. Asset went inside to check for death and came out a few minutes later.

"The river’s not far from here," Philip said to them all. "Ten minute’s walk at the most."

Penny had a little backpack on with her swimsuit and a towel inside, Philip had a rucksack on his back and a kit bag in his hand, and the Asset had the rest. Plates clanked together with his every move.

The gun that Philip had held onto with all his might since the world fell down swung on a belt at his hip. It had the safety on.

He probably didn’t have to say, but — “Keep an eye out,” he said, to the other man. “We’re far out. Might be some survivors came out this way looking for food.”

Asset nodded imperceptibly.

It didn’t take them long to reach the water. Philip had come here often over the past ten years: it was quiet, there were many trails, and sometimes you could walk all day and never see a single soul.

This trail in particular lead you straight to the river. It was shallower here; came up to his waist at its deepest part, and didn’t rush so fast as the rapids further along. It was safe for kids, is what it was.

Penny saw it and came running down the slope nearest him, shrieking.

"Hey!" Philip called out. He dove after her and picked her up at the water’s edge, spinning her round and round. His voice was gravelly, cheeky: "You wanna go in, missy?"

She wriggled and shrieked again, her legs kicking in mid air.

"Well, okay," he said, "But not in those clothes. Get changed first."

He set her down and she ran over to her backpack, that must have fallen off when he grabbed her, pulling things out.

Philip stayed where he was and glanced around, looking for their Asset. Standing further back than usual, with his lank black hair and his five-day-old stubblebeard, the man looked like he felt slightly out of place here. His eyes met Philip’s, briefly, then recommenced their slow sweep of their surroundings. Philip felt as safe as houses.

Penny called for him, and he looked over to see her already in her swimsuit - a tiny green thing with ladybirds creeping over her shoulder - just about bursting to get in. “Alright,” he said, “But just the shallows first. Watch out for stones.”

"Okay!" she sang and leapt into the water, splashing and stomping her feet in delight.

Philip watched her for a moment, then turned back to his companion. “I’ll get the fire going if you unpack,” he said.

They made a good team. Maybe a tad unusual and newly-built, but well-oiled and with good intentions. Philip boiled a pot of water and used it to wash up, and the Asset worked on their clothes, both of them scrubbing out the dirt like they’d been doing it that way for a lot longer than a fortnight.

As they worked, Penny played in the water and searched for stones to add to her collection. She came up to Philip every now and then with a new one, and he would pick out the best. One time she accidentally ran up to the Asset, realised who it was, then flinched and ran back to Philip’s side.

It was better than screaming, he supposed.

It wasn’t all her fault. The man looked like he needed a day at the spa to truly look like another human being again, and maybe several high dosages of medication. None of which they had around anymore, but there was the next best thing.

"I think we’re done here," Philip said, when he sat the last fork out on a tray to dry in the sun and saw the clothes dripping on the branches beside the Asset.

The man didn’t seem to tire: this was something that fascinated Philip. He had been working pretty hard at washing those clothes, and it was repetitive work - rubbing fabric together, working the soap in and washing them clean. And yet, the man hadn’t taken a break once. He had finished before Philip, even, and honestly Philip was surprised he hadn’t made a brand new drying rack out of the wood around them by now.

Reaching for one of the bags, Philip took out the sets of shampoo, soap and conditioner that the Asset had scavenged for them and set them down on a pair of towels. The first lot, he indicated. “That’s for you,” he said to the Asset.

The man didn’t move.

Philip looked at him, patiently. “The river’s the closest we get to running water these days. Either jump in there and get clean or find a different place to hide out.”

The Asset gingerly - gingerly? what made him want to say gingerly? - reached down and took the supplies, before looking back at Philip again, still hesitant.

"You can clean your clothes after. Just get _yourself_ cleaned up.”

He heard a shriek in the distance and turned towards it, noticing that Penny had gone a little too far across the water for comfort. “Hey, sweetie? Come back here. It’s bath time.”

She made her way across the river, half walking, half swimming, and Philip took one last look at the Asset before grabbing the other two towels and the rest of the supplies.

He stripped his shirt off as he walked down to the edge of the water, leaving it on the dry dirt with his shoes. One towel he put down and the other he held out to Penny as she came in, wrapping it around her shoulders. “Let’s not get you too cold now, alright?”

She nodded and he rubbed her arms with the towel for a moment, getting a bit of warmth back into her, before he picked a rock and sat down on it, rolling up the legs of his pants so they wouldn’t get wet.

He squirted some shampoo into his hands and started rubbing it into her hair, glad for the heat of the day. All this fresh air was good for her, was good for both of them, and the weather would go easy on her cold.

Behind him, he felt the Asset finally start to move, and relaxed a little bit more.

It was almost like nothing had ever happened - birds were still singing in the trees, the sun was shining, the water was fresh and cold against his toes. He could have sat there forever.

He used a plastic container to wash the shampoo out of Penny’s hair, holding one hand against her forehead as he tipped it back so that she wouldn’t get any of it in her eyes, and the Asset passed him by, heading straight for the water.

He was so busy putting conditioner in his hands and shutting the bottle cap without dropping it that he didn’t look up at first. When he did, he found Penny looking in the exact same place.

Philip had thought the arm itself was impressive, but out here in the sunlight, it took on a whole life of its own. It reflected tiny shifting pools of light onto the water and shimmered as the Asset moved.

And when he- when he moved—

His eyes searched for the bite mark he knew still wasn’t there and then he dropped his gaze back to the conditioner bottle, putting yet more of it into his hands. He took extra care making sure that every strand of Penny’s hair was soft before he reached for the comb and had to look up again. Fortunately, by then, the Asset was gone.

Philip combed Penny’s hair until there wasn’t a tangle to be found, then washed it out with the container. He patted her on the back. “You’re good. Now stay on the bank and dry, okay?”

She nodded and huddled up in the towel, looking ready to fall asleep.

Something pulled at Philip’s gut and he undid the belt that held his gun, setting it carefully on the ground. He stripped out of his pants but left his boxers on, taking a plastic bag with some of the bathing supplies with him.

He smiled at Penny in the sun, then turned and waded into the water.

 

-

 

The Asset was a ways away from their pitch: stood near the bank a little further downriver. He had his metal arm - Philip still hadn’t figured out whether it could be detached or not - at his side and the flesh one holding a shampoo bottle. Philip watched as he squirted some of the liquid into his metal palm, dropped the bottle and reached up to rub it through his hair.

It bobbed in the water next to him, refusing to sink, along with the two others. Like he wanted to do it all at once and not come back until he was done.

Philip waited until he had washed out the shampoo - bending low enough to the water that he could shove his head in and rinse his hair out underwater - then began to make his way over, wading through the river to get towards him.

"How did you do that?" he called over, when he was near enough.

The Asset turned towards him with the kind of smoothness that let him know he had heard him coming.

"Your shoulder," Philip clarified, coming closer. "How did it heal?"

He didn’t get an answer until he was stood right in front of him - the man having turned - breathing a little heavier now from the effort.

"I heal," the man said. "Quickly."

"Was that something you were born with?"

The man looked at him steadily for a moment, then: “No.”

Philip stood there, feeling like he had something else to say without being able to find it. In the end, his eyes jumped to the man’s arm, and back to his eyes.

"No," the man repeated, simply.

Philip paused for a minute, then stepped forward, a little too close maybe. He swallowed to clear his throat, then spoke. “Get clean, get dry, then come back. Penny needs you.”

 

-

 

He came out of the water away from the Asset and their camp, and walked into the trees a little further. There wasn’t too much undergrowth - just enough that he would see anything coming, but wasn’t out in the open.

He couldn’t be. He was hot, somehow, deep in the muscles of his face and right at the base of his neck. His fingers kept curling in on themselves like they wanted to punch something. He tested it out, closing them into a fist then opening them again, but still they twinged and wanted to curl back.

Philip sat down with his back to a tree and breathed, leaves and dust sticking to his skin with the river-water. It was as if he’d run a mile, not just watch a stranger take a bath. The guy wasn’t even nude for god’s sake, he had had underwear on, and—

He shoved the waistband of his boxers down his thighs and lifted his hips so he could push them down further. He took hold of his hardon and tilted his head back against the tree, stroked himself once, twice, then faster, picturing: the line of the Asset’s back as he bent towards the water, the sway of his hips as he strode out through the water, the dark hair dripping into his eyes. Those eyes that seemed so empty and sometimes looked accusingly straight at him.

He shuddered against the soil and sped his hand up, closing his eyes and biting down his teeth. His breathing quickened and he could feel tiny rivulets of water running down him, picturing them as the Asset’s own sweat, all hot and with his chest right up against him, just as hard and unable to do anything without Philip’s wish—

He came with a gasp and his eyelids fluttered briefly as it hit him, hips thrusting up into his hand with all the want and the power he had left behind washing itself in the river.

He didn’t think he would be taking this one back.

 

-

 

When he arrived back at the camp, the Asset was there looking out over the water and Penny was eyeing him nervously from the pile of rucksacks. A sole biter lay dead at the entrance to their camp.

He had his towel over his shoulder and strode straight to the Asset’s side, grabbing him by the arm and turning him roughly towards him. They were close, and Philip’s voice lowered. “You gotta make friends,” he said to him, with a forced smile on his face. “You’re here to take care of my daughter and I can’t have her cowering every time you enter a room.”

He shook the Asset’s arm, once, and felt an answering twinge deep in his belly. “Understand me?”

The Asset nodded and Philip let go, his palm faintly sweaty where he had gripped the other man. Philip stared at him for a moment and rubbed the back of his hand over his own mouth, feeling the roughness of stubble and realising in that second that he needed to give the Asset a shave. His own shadow was manageable; the Asset had a week-old gathering of black hairs down his jaw, along his chin and just above the jut of his lip.

"Come with me," he said, and turned.

"Time to go, Pen!" Philip said, as soon as his eyes found his daughter. "Do you have a bag for your stones? Maybe Asset can help you with that."

Her gaze flitted over him to the man stood behind Philip, and Philip turned his head to follow it, both of them looking at their Asset together. “Time to go home,” he told them.


	3. Pause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I never saw a man who looked_   
>  _With such a wistful eye_   
>  _Upon that little tent of blue_   
>  _Which prisoners call the sky,_   
>  _And at every drifting cloud that went_   
>  _With sails of silver by._
> 
> \- Oscar Wilde, The Ballad Of Reading Gaol

Watching the two of them together was like watching two mice try to communicate verbally. The Asset wouldn’t - or couldn’t - speak, and Penny was too nervous to say much to him in return, just scuffing the sole of her foot against the couch from where they were sat on the floor.

"Do you want a hint?" Philip had said, when Penny was asleep in the car on the way back home. "The way to her heart is through her stomach. That’s how you’ll get her talking."

But now, later that day, with them both still so silent and shy with each other, Philip wondered if what he had said back then had registered at all.

The Asset stared down at the carpet, glanced up at Penny, then down again. He began to move his hands and Penny jumped; he stilled immediately. Plaintive, he glanced over to Philip as if begging him for a move.

Philip only glanced up from his book, tucked his tongue between his teeth, and returned his gaze to the page.

After a long silence, the Asset started to move again, but this time he just used his flesh arm. He slowly reached for the bag that was resting against the sofa -one of the ones he had brought in with him the night before - putting his hand into the opening and closing it over something that rustled.

Philip had to give him points for preparing it beforehand.

Ever so slowly, the Asset drew his hand out and, looking almost ill, moved it into the gap between them, offering the food to Penny.

Penny had watched him do it all, but now, seeing what he had, she sat up on her heels and leaned forward, peering at the gift.

"Ewww," she said. "Raisins!" She looked quickly at Philip for backup.

The Asset stayed stock-still. 

Philip caught her glance and rubbed the back of his index finger against the bridge of his nose, still settled into his chair. “Tell him,” he said.

"I don’t like  _raisins,”_  Penny said, almost immediately.

The Asset withdrew his hand, and, like he didn’t know what on earth to do with them, put the packet of raisins gently on the floor next to him.

_Try again,_  thought Philip, amused. Penny, though, he was pleased to see, was now much more interested in what the Asset had to share with her. He returned his eyes to the page.

In true form, the Asset reached for the bag again. This time, he took a little longer to pick something, bringing his hand out of the bag eventually and presenting the item to Penny.

She tilted her head and squinted at it, clearly not quite sure what it was. She wriggled forward a little on her knees and leaned down to read the writing.

"Pista.. chia? Pasta?" She sat back on her heels and looked puzzled. "What’s pasta-chio, daddy?"

"It’s a nut," Philip said, without looking up. "Try one."

Penny gently took the packet from the Asset’s hand and pulled it open with her small fists, peering at the contents. She picked one out and put it in her mouth, attempted to chew on it and made a face. ”It’s really hard!”

Philip chuckled and turned a page.

Penny popped the pistachio out into her hand and, looking round to make sure no one other than the Asset saw, she snuck it into her pocket. She held her finger to her lips and her eyes went wide. “Shhh,” she whispered. “Don’t tell!”

She then held out the rest of the packet and spoke nice and loudly for the rest of the room’s benefit. “No thank you!”

The Asset took back the pistachios and was about to set them down next to the raisins, when a hand wave from Philip had the Asset turning around to give them to him.

Philip took the packet and picked out a few, making sure to deshell them first. “Seems a waste not to eat them,” he said to his daughter, when she stared at him in disgust.

This time, the Asset took the whole bag down, setting it in his lap and rummaging through it until he found something worthwhile.

Prize in hand, he reached across the gap for a third time.

Penny inspected the goods, and, instead of taking them, put her hand out palm-up. The Asset tipped them in.

Conversation hearts. A whole handful of small, candy-filled packets, stuffed full with hearts. Penny’s eyes widened.

She looked up at him and said solemnly:  _"Thank you."_

The Asset nodded and began to withdraw his hand, but Penny took his wrist and he paused. Into  _his_  open palm, she put two of the packets.

When he looked at her, she beamed. “You’re welcome!”

 

-

 

Philip left them alone awhile to get to know each other the rest of the evening. He came in around ten to take Penny to bed and found her and the Asset on the sofa, Penny babbling along about something or other. If it hadn’t been for the soft murmur he had heard through the door every now and then, he would have thought Penny had spent the whole time talking the Asset’s ear off.

"Bed time, Pen," he said, and "Awww!" she said.

 ”You’ll have all the time you need in the morning,” Philip said with a smile, and on that note the Asset stood up, Penny looking after him longingly.

"Say night-night to Asset," Philip said.

"Night!"

Philip took her by the hand and led her to the kitchen counter. “Just one last thing,” he said, and poured some of the cough syrup into a spoon from the bottle. “Open wide.”

She did, and took it down like a champ.

"Alright, princess. Off to bed."

"Okay!" she said and rushed into her room.

"Brush your teeth!" he called after her, but received no answer.

Smiling, he shook his head a little and caught the Asset’s eye. The man glanced away, and Philip remembered who he was looking at.

"Hey," he said, his voice lower now that Penny had left. "Wait here."

Philip left the room and went into the apartment’s sole bathroom, mostly unused now that running water had ceased to exist. It was out of habit that he still kept everything he would normally need in here.

He picked up his tools and came back in. “Batteries are a luxury, I’m afraid,” he said, apologetically. “If you’ll let me, I have some experience with this.”

He set the straight razor and the pot of shaving cream down on the chair he had been sitting in and went over to the kitchen unit to fill a bowl half-full with water.

Drawing the chair over to the sofa so that he could sit in front of the Asset, Philip opened the pot and dipped his index finger in it, before asking him, briefly: “Do  _you_  want to?”

The Asset shook his head, minutely, and Philip took a dollop of the cream out with his fingers. “It’s cold,” he warned, then began to pat it across the swathe of the Asset’s week-old beard. It was as dark as the hair on his head and slightly longer than heavy stubble - a good inch at the most. Philip guessed that it must just regenerate as fast as his skin.

He used the hand not currently covered in shaving cream to touch the Asset’s jaw. “Lift your head,” he said, and when the Asset did, he put cream on the hair at the top of his neck too. The man looked silly, in the end, with blotchy patches of white on his beard, but still he didn’t smile. He only spoke with tiny movements, and sometimes his eyes.

"I’m going to rub it in now," Philip said, when the Asset was facing him again.

The Asset gave him a nod, and Philip gently took his face in his hands and started to rub the shaving cream in with his thumbs in small circles. It didn’t take long for it to work in and let him move his hands, fingertips rubbing it into the Asset’s face.

Surprising both of them, after a minute, the Asset blinked for just slightly too long for it to be deliberate. His eyes fluttered open again in a hurry, wide and watching for displeasure. Philip gave him none, and soon the Asset was blinking slowly again, until his eyes were almost closed.

Philip nudged his jaw with his thumbs and the Asset tilted his head up again, but this time his shoulders had an ease to them that Philip hadn’t seen before - or maybe had seen just the beginnings of, when he had opened that door into the conversation between Asset and Penny.

Leaving the wordless silence as it was, Philip repeated the circular motions on the underside of the Asset’s jaw, below his chin, along his neck, and just shy of his Adam’s Apple. “You’re doing good,” he murmured, not really aware that he had even said it.

The Asset’s lips twitched then, like he wanted to say something, but nothing came of it.

"I’m going to start with your cheek," Philip said, finally, taking his hands away and wiping them on a towel. The Asset exhaled with the loss of them, and Philip jolted. "It’s okay," he said, and resisted the urge to try to brush away the shadows just below the Asset’s eyes.

Instead, he braced one hand against the man’s face and, with the razor in his right hand, began to shave away some of the darkness from his skin.

It surely didn’t take too long. They had candles out to see by, but those were hard to use as clocks. Time had become irrelevant now: another luxury, unaffordable and out of reach in this new world. Maybe they had fallen out of time and this was the resulting mess.

Still, it felt like forever as Philip slowly cut away hair. The Asset seemed more tense with the feel of the steel against his skin than Philip’s hands, and Philip couldn’t really blame him, but he was still, well,  _relaxed._ Like a cat soaking up scratches.

"Did you have fun with Penny?" Philip asked him, conversationally, moving down the length of his other cheek.

"Mmmm," the Asset hummed in reply, surprising both of them.

Philip left the silence as it was for a moment, to let him recover, the only sounds in the room the scrape-scrape of the blade and the swish as Philip dunked it in water. He pressed his hands to the Asset’s face again, continuing his work down the curve of his jaw.

"Did she show you her stones?"

The Asset nodded, still clearly guarded, and half-opened one eye to peer at Philip, who continued, seemingly oblivious to his observer.

"She’s a good girl," Philip said, pushing an errant dot of foam away with his thumb. "Makes friends quickly. Used to. Still does."

He leaned in to access the stubble above the Asset’s lip, being careful not to nick him with the razor. Whatever the man’s healing process, he doubted it was pleasant.

He had finished most of the Asset’s face when he nudged the bottom of his jaw and the Asset tilted his head back again. This spot needed slower, steadier work. Philip stayed close to get the accuracy he wanted.

"I’m going to build her a town," he murmured, sometime around then, when the candles had burned halfway down. "A school, with other kids and teachers. A park; maybe a dog. A whole neighbourhood for her to grow up in."

The Asset had his head resting on the back of the couch, at his ease, as Philip worked. “I thought: It doesn’t mean we have to give up, just because the world we know has gone. There’s people, food - we can grow crops, build a community. Like it should be.”

He brought the razor to the last remaining shadow on the Asset’s chin and began to carve it away. “She doesn’t know it yet. I don’t think she understands the way things have changed. That’s why I need you.”

Philip finished up, swilling the razor in the bowl of water and wiping his hands on the towel, before picking it up. He put his elbows on his knees and held his hands open, the towel supported by them. The Asset opened his eyes; Philip met them.

"You’re her protector. The first… and best thing you are, is that." He leaned forward, wiping the Asset’s face clean of lost hairs and shaving cream. "You’ll take care of her when I can’t, and when she needs you, you’ll be there. If she’s scared in the night, you’re there. Walker? You’re there. Human?" He inhaled, thinking, then exhaled again. "You look to me. And you  _always_  stay ready.”

The Asset looked at him with awake eyes, and when he knew Philip was looking, he nodded.

"Good," said Philip, handing him the towel. "Now brush your teeth, find some pajamas and go to sleep."

Philip had taken the utensils to the bathroom and was about to turn in, when he paused in the doorway of his room. “Oh, and this time,” Philip said, turning around to the Asset, “Use the blanket I gave you. It’s gonna be cold tonight.”

 

-

 

In the morning, the Asset looked a little bit more alive.

He still had shadows under his eyes, but they were lighter now, and the loss of his dark beard was like an electric shock every time Philip looked at him.

"You look younger," he said, sitting down at the kitchen table. "Without it, I mean."

The Asset glanced up from his bran flakes and nodded haphazardly. Philip tilted his head to study him.

Interrupting, the other door opened and Penny ran out with a “Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” She stopped short at the table when she saw the Asset, and made a little “Oh!”, then peered at him just as Philip had done.

"You’re… different," she came up with, then shrugged and continued over to Philip.

"Morning, pumpkin," Philip said, with a smile. He swung around on his chair and picked her up, Penny flinging her legs back with a giddy shriek of laughter as he bounced her into the air. Bringing her down, he wrapped his arms around her like a cage and play-growled. "Don’t  _ever_  disturb the monster at his feast, little girl. You know what monsters like to eat the most.”

"No!" she lied, giggling.

Philip paused for effect, then gripped her tighter and roared  _"Little girls!"_

Penny escaped out of his open arms and raced back to her room, shrieking with joy.

Philip let her go with a smile, before turning back to the table and reaching for one of the empty bowls.

So,” he said, picking up the bran, “I was thinking of heading south. Seeing what the roads are like that way, how thick the biters are. Maybe find a good spot down there.”

The Asset didn’t answer, but started to eat just a tiny bit faster.

"Tell me," said Philip, setting his elbow on the table. "During your supply run, did you bring back weapons of any kind? Knives? Or guns?"

The Asset nodded, but looked hesitant, as if that wasn’t quite right.

"You think we need more?"

He nodded.

Philip smiled a little at the insistence and raised his hands. “It’s your call. I’m just the manager here.”

"I will fetch some," the Asset said. It was a statement - careful, but a statement none the less, and somehow still managed to sound lyrical, like every vowel had been savoured. Philip didn’t move for a moment, then shifted in his seat, leaning forward.

"Good."

The Asset left them as soon as he could put on his gear - the black pants with built-in kneepads, the black boots, and the leather jacket on top of everything that covered even his metal arm. He took some of the dumped-out bags and removed a knife from one of the pockets, setting it in a compartment built to hold one against his thigh; he also attached what looked like a machete to his back.

"When?" said Philip, once he was stood below the skylight ready to leave.

"Afternoon," said the Asset, and with that, he stepped on one of the chairs and hoisted himself out, letting the wet Atlanta air come rushing in.

 

-

 

It was difficult looking at the apartment like he was going to leave it.

Difficult, because for a short while it had been a safe place. Nothing had gotten them in here; nothing had gotten  _in_  here. And sure, they had had to piss in buckets and ration bottled water, but was it really that bad this side of the apocalypse?

Philip stared across at his bedroom: the king-sized bed, the clothes (half of them not his) and the collection of possessions on the bedside table. He went into the main room to fetch a rucksack and came back in to fill it. Once he had decided something like this, it was better to start while his mind was still ahead.

In went two shirts and an extra pair of pants; underwear; the picture of Penny still in its frame. He put two of the empty water bottles into the side pockets of the bag and some of the lighter tins and packets of food. Round and round his room he went, picking lightly from the luxuries that surrounded him. He couldn’t take much. The Asset could take more, but Philip didn’t want him overly burdened.

He went into Penny’s room next, with a Spongebob backpack that she had taken from their home itself, back when- when—

"Knock knock," he said, as he pushed open the door, to find Penny sprawled out on the carpet, felt tip in hand. He went over to her and squatted down. "Whatcha doing here?"

"That’s our house," Penny stated, pointing at the paper she had been working on. In scrawled bright orange and pink, a square house with large square windows stood boldly out from the paper. It had a very clear skylight at the center of the roof.

"And who’s this?" Philip said, pointing towards the figures he could see in the windows.

"Me and Asset," Penny replied, simply. They both had long hair, but Penny’s hair was longer - all the way down to the floor - and the Asset had a gigantic left arm. He had something clutched in it that Philip couldn’t quite make out.

"What’s he got there?" he asked.

"That’s his knife," Penny said, happily. "He’s gonna kill all the zombies! And that’s you, see, daddy?"

"I see," Philip said. At the bottom of the page, there were hoards of figures. Even Penny’s messy way of drawing couldn’t have disfigured them as deliberately as she had clearly intended them. Standing outside, at the front of house facing all of these biters, was Philip, waving his arms.

A speech bubble drifted from his mouth and read: GO AWAY! GO! GO AWAY!

Philip stood up suddenly and turned around, lurching out of the room. He ran over to the sink and shuddered all the way up his spine, before he opened his mouth and threw up everything he had eaten into the sink.

The splatter of it landing made him sick again, and he braced himself white-knuckled against the counter as it all rolled out of him.

"Daddy! Daddy!" Penny’s voice was faint, and as Philip fought the nausea he half-opened one eye to look down at her.

"It’s alright," he croaked. "Daddy’s okay."

That almost sent him reeling again, but in the end it was only a gasp of air that burned his throat the whole way down.

He forced himself to breathe in and out and slow his heart-rate down, before he felt okay enough to reach for one of the water bottles. Taking a huge swig, he washed out his mouth with it and spat the rest into the sink. “Ggh.”

"Are you okay, daddy?" Penny asked, pulling gently at his shirt.

"Let me sit down," he said, heading over to the couch and plopping into it like all of his strength had left his body. He exhaled, inhaled, then exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "It’s okay. I’m sorry. You don’t need to worry."

She had crawled onto the couch with him and tucked her knees under herself, holding onto his arm, silent now but still clearly surprised. Her fingers clung on with strength that Philip had yet to muster. “Are you sick?” she asked him after a minute, her voice quiet.

Philip opened his eyes.  _"No,"_  he said, looking her in the eye, and then he turned to wrap his other arm around her. Penny wriggled into it so that he was holding her in his lap. “No, I’m not.”

She was calm in his arms for a moment, but then she pulled one hand free and held it up. “Pinky swear?” she asked.

Taking her pinky finger with his own, Philip said, very seriously, “Pinky swear.”

 

-

 

They had fallen into a doze like that, on the couch, and time passed by until Philip woke up with a jolt. He blinked dry, sticky eyes, slowly realising where he was, then made a face at the godawful taste in his mouth.

Curled up on him was Penny: her shape so familiar that he could have recognised it anywhere. She was sound asleep in the crook of his elbow.

_TAP TAP TAP_

Automatically reaching for the gun at his side - not there - Philip swore and craned his head to look up through the skylight. There, crouched and looking in, was the Asset.

Sliding Penny off of him onto the couch as gently as possible, Philip extricated himself from her legs and moved to the middle of the room, between her and the skylight, reaching forward to grab the revolver that was sat on the kitchen table. Only then did he motion the Asset to come in.

Echoing Philip’s silence, the Asset opened the skylight without a sound and dropped through the hole with barely a thud. His hands were by his sides as he took a step towards Philip. “Five men, two blocks from here,” he said in a low voice. “Armed. Two of them know how to handle a weapon. They’re looking for us.”

Philip tilted his head, stood just as still in the dark as the Asset, with one hand on his gun. “How would you know?”

The Asset dropped his gaze all the way to the floor, then shifted it back up, looking Philip in the eye. Philip thought he had some idea.

"Weapons?" he asked.

The Asset reached for the bag he had brought in with him and unzipped it, setting it on the table. Inside, the long barrels of two semi-automatics shined in the fading light, and when Philip reached in he found three handguns. Pushing those aside, his hands found ammo.

"What did you raid, a police locker?"

"A group," the Asset replied. "This group," he clarified.

"Well fan-fucking-tastic." Philip headed to the windows that looked out onto the road and stood at one end, making a hole in the blinds just big enough for himself to look out of. "Shut that skylight."

 It closed behind him and he heard the Asset breaking out the weapons, one by one. Philip shut the noise out and concentrated, staring as far down the street as possible.

After a minute, he saw them: two shadows lit by the headlights of a car, flitting across the road. If he listened very carefully, he could even hear faint words.

"They’re coming."

There was a tap on Philip’s shoulder and he turned to see the Asset holding out one of the semi-automatics. He took it without thinking, then shoved it back at him, into the Asset’s hands, and stalked past. “I have to get Penny.”

Leaning down over the couch, Philip ran one hand beneath Penny’s shoulders and the other behind her knees, gently picking her up and cradling her in his arms. “Sleeeeep, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Sleep. Daddy’s here.”

He stepped out of the room and tucked her up in her own bed, where she made a soft noise and rolled to one side. “Shhh,” he said to her, brushing the back of his finger over her forehead, then leaning down and kissing it. “You be good now. Sleep deep.”

Philip crept out of her room and shut the door, then strode over to the Asset. “Hand me one of those knives.”

The Asset obeyed, and Philip strapped the familiar gun belt around his waist, adding the knife and holstering the revolver he had managed to save for the longest. They exited without a word, the Asset waiting patiently for Philip to get out before following him and closing it behind them with a sigh.


	4. Orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He did not wring his hands, as do_   
>  _Those witless men who dare_   
>  _To try to rear the changeling Hope_   
>  _In the cave of black Despair:_   
>  _He only looked upon the sun,_   
>  _And drank the morning air._
> 
> \- Oscar Wilde, The Ballad Of Reading Gaol

Two of them came in the lead, guns at the ready as they crept through the streets. Philip immediately picked them out as the ones the Asset had said knew how to handle a weapon: there was a certain assuredness in the way they held their guns, and even as they jogged down the sidewalk and around burned-out cars, Philip never felt that they were very far away from aiming and firing.

He glanced at the Asset, who nodded at him before steadily advancing across the roof towards cover. There were trees all over this neighbourhood and one had been planted right in front of the apartment complex. If angled right, anyone up here would be almost impossible to see from the road.

The Asset had one of the semi-automatics in his hands and seemed to feel with his feet where the safe footing was, keeping his gaze through the sights at all times. He crouched down once he'd reached the tree cover and became almost invisible in the dark.

Philip made his way over to him and crouched beside him, listening.

_"Pssst!"_

_"Through- through!"_

_"-here, someone ..."_

Squinting, Philip could see them converge on the sidewalk in a doorway and bend down.

"They're tracking you," he said, as it occurred to him. He turned to face the Asset, realising--

The Asset took his eye from the sights and looked back at Philip, and out of instinct Philip glanced down at the roof they were stood on, pressing his hand to the ground. It came away wet; wet and dark. 

Philip stared at him. "How?"

The Asset opened his mouth to reply and a bullet spat between them, ricocheting off the roof tiles.

In one movement, the Asset turned, lifted the gun and fired back in a burst of shots. There were shouts from below and one scream, then a call for back up.

"I can deal with these," he said, glancing sideways at Philip. 

"Yeah," said Philip. "Yeah." He reached down to wipe his hand, and the gun he was holding clattered onto the roof, sliding and spinning towards the drop at the back until it skidded to a halt. His foot slipped and he grabbed the tiles, missing another bullet by inches.

He got the roof beneath his feet and and wavered up, bent over to present less of a target. When he'd taken a few steps towards the back end of the roof, out of the line of fire, Philip turned around. "Fight them," he said to the Asset, out of breath. "But don't kill them. I need them."

The Asset nodded and refocused on the street below. More men were coming, signalling to each other where to stand and where to fire from. The Asset shot off a few rounds into the road, preventing them from grouping together. Gunfire spat back.

He reloaded, shifting his position slightly to move further behind the tree cover.

When he raised the gun to his eye again, all of his breath left him at once.

Stepping out into the road, hands raised and gun holstered at his side, Philip Blake was heading out to meet the enemy straight on.

"STOP!" one of the men shouted, and Philip halted. From his spot on the roof, the Asset could only see Philip from the back; he made a dark silhouette with his arms up. The Asset searched the street and the houses opposite for more targets, finding only five total: the ones he had seen earlier.

"Hey," Philip said, amicably. His voice travelled, deliberately. "Are you going to shoot me?"

There was a pause, then the same man shouted again. "Put down your gun! Slowly!"

"Okay," Philip said, beginning to ease down a hand. He sat it on the butt of his gun, unholstering it, then slowly crouched and put it on the floor.

"Now kick it to us!"

Philip was in no hurry. He put his boot to the revolver and shoved it forward, then returned his hands to the air and stood as easily as if he were admiring a view.

One of the men came forward and grabbed the gun, checking it over as he backed off. "Not one of ours," he said. "See?"

"I don't care," their leader hissed, then stepped forward into the light, straight into the Asset's sight lines. His group came closer and pointed their guns straight at Philip, who didn't look bothered.

"Who are you?" the leader said.

"Philip," Philip responded, casually. "I'm a car salesman."

"Doesn't matter what you are anymore," the leader said, "You're just some guy."

"And who are you?" asked Philip, like he was having a chat with someone he'd just met at the grocery store.

The leader looked at him for a long moment. Then: "Martinez," he said. "First name's Caesar, but no one's called me that in a long time."

"Martinez," Philip repeated, savouring it.

"Yeah," the guy said, and licked his lips. "Look, put your hands down but keep 'em where I can see 'em. You haven't met some guy with a bag of guns around here, huh? Looked military. Like he knew what he was doing."

"Like you?" Philip said, slowly lowering his hands to his sides.

Martinez smiled. "Yeah, something like me."

Philip paused for a moment, and from the rooftop the Asset could see the only indicator that he was tense: sharp lines of shirt fabric clutching his shoulders like skeletal hands.

Philip gazed at the group, then focused on Martinez and tilted his head slightly to one side, gesturing his hands palm-up. "What if I could give you him, in return for something of yours?"

Instantly, the group shifted, becoming nervous, but Martinez wasn't the kind of man to show it so easily.

He laughed, a brief HA-ha-ha, and slapped his hip. "You telling me you got him tied to a chair in uh-" Martinez gestured to the complex behind Philip. "Apartment fuckin' three-oh-three? HA-ha!"

His men started laughing with him, a low murmur that wasn't quite sure of itself.

"No," said Philip, calmly, with a smile. "I mean he's up on the roof with his gun trained on all of you, and if you make one wrong move, he'll kill you."

Martinez's mirth died in his face and he loaded his weapon, raising it to his shoulder and stepping forward. "ALRIGHT, SOLDIER," he bellowed, once he was in place. "I'VE GOT YOUR LEADER HERE UNARMED AND HE'S GOT ONE MINUTE TO LIVE. SO WHY DON'T YOU GET DOWN HERE AND GIVE US BACK WHAT'S OURS?"

Silence answered.

Philip waited, counting down the seconds in his head. "Seems like he's not coming," he said to Martinez.

"THIRTY SECONDS!"

Slowly, just as slowly as he had put the gun down on the ground, Philip worked his fingers into the pocket at the back of his pants.

"TWENTY SECONDS!"

His fingers found the handle of what they were looking for and stilled, drawing the knife half-out.

"TEN SECONDS!" cried Martinez, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. "FIVE. FOUR. THREE. TWO-"

Shots fired and Martinez slumped to the ground, followed by all of his crew.

The Asset appeared behind Philip and ran forward, the gun no longer in his hands. He had only his fists, and Philipwondered for a second before the Asset kicked Martinez in the gun-wound and leapt over him. Martinez howled, clutching his leg, which gave Philip the second he needed to dodge forward and take his gun. When Martinez reached for it, Philip turned it on him. "Ah-ah-ah," he said. "No moving."

The rest of Martinez's crew had scattered, some with weapons destroyed, some clutching their fingers, others with only minor injuries that the Asset was currently fighting. Philip glanced up and saw a man thrown backward onto a car, before the Asset's forearm slammed into his collarbone and dropped him like a rock.

He saw a man struggling with a rifle with two fewer fingers, spurting blood all over the grip as he tried to lift it. The Asset came down on the back of his neck with both hands interlocked and the man struggled no more. A third screamed as something hit him; a fourth was knocked to the ground and lay there bloody.

"Enough," said Philip, quietly, without looking, and the deed was done.

The Asset gave them all a swift glance, before heading back to Philip's side and standing behind him, like a shadow.

"Wh- who are you?" Martinez coughed up, from the road.

"I told you," Philip said. "Philip Blake."

 

-

 

Martinez woke with his hands tied together and his leg bandaged, stiff and cold on a wooden floor.

"Don't worry," Philip said, sitting in a chair beside him. "He didn't nick anything vital."

The guy had dark sunken eyes and a pale pallor, though he only grimaced once before staring at Philip. "Where are my men?" he said, hands clenching together.

"Safe," Philip commented. "Alive. Asking for you."

"You tell them I'm doing nothin' for you," Martinez spat, and Philip held up one finger.

"Ah-ah," he said, slowly waving it back and forth. "We had a deal."

"We didn't have  _shit!"_

Philip made a patient, bemused face, then stood up, palm patting against his thigh. "I'm a man of my word," he said, as he walked away from Martinez, looking through the big windows at the breaking dawn outside. He turned towards his prisoner, repeating: "I'll give you him, for something of yours."

Martinez coughed a laugh, shaking his head. "I don't want him anymore, man. You keep 'im."

Philip turned back towards the windows, watching the sun rise over the houses across the street. There were biters down below, swarming over the feast of blood and meat they had left behind.

"You have a family, don't you?" Philip asked. "A group?"

Martinez said nothing.

"You don't think they could use -- _all_ these weapons? All the-" Philip gestured behind Martinez's head, and when the guy craned his head he saw an IV drip stood tall above him. "-medical supplies, for when your children get sick?"

"You're a military man," Philip said, coming towards Martinez, and squatting down in front of him. "You understand-- variables. Risk and reward." Philip offered his hand across the gap. "So why don't you take this offer?"

When Martinez didn't answer, Philip tsked and withdrew his hand, getting back to his feet and walking towards the only door. "I invite you into the apartments  _you_  shot at, clean up your wounds, take care of your men, and even give you an offer. I'm only trying to  _help_  you."

He caught Martinez trying to stir in the corner of his vision and turned, just as Martinez groaned, and angrily sat back against the wall. "That wound needs to heal," Philip reiterated. He smiled. "Rest up. Take five. You've got all the time in the world."

 

-

 

The rest of his men were worse off. Alive, yes, but worse.

Philip had broken into two of the abandoned apartments in the same complex; the first held only Martinez, the second held the rest.

They were nursing bruises, swellings, and bandages over their fingers. When Philip opened the door they stirred nervously, their eyes flitting from him to the Asset, who was stood silently in the corner.

"Send him back to sleep," Philip said, and the Asset nodded, turning and leaving the room.

Philip clapped his hands, then spread them apart as the door closed. "Well!" he said, looking them over. "What have we here?"

No one answered, most avoiding his gaze, but one man near the front didn't budge an inch. Philip addressed this one, moving about the room as he spoke. "My name's Philip, and I have a job opportunity for you all."

"Aren't you tired of scavenging for your every meal? Beating off biters around every corner?" he said, genially. "Don't you wish you could sleep in a bed every night without having to worry that Jennifer or Michael might not stay awake on watch? That every hour you stay alive is an hour less in your life?"

He smiled, standing still. "If you're wondering whether there's a solution to this mess we're in, then I promise you: there is."

"How?"

Philip glanced round the room, looking for the person who had spoken.

His eyes came to rest on a man with most of his teeth missing, his tongue poking out of the hole where his left canine used to be.  _"How?"_  repeated the man.

Philip took a step forward in front of the man, looking down at him. "A town," he said. Then, more forcefully: "A town!"

He backed off and began to pace around the room. "What's the use in running from house to house if the place you're living in isn't fortified -- protected?" Philip smiled at them with his teeth. "None. You need barricades,  _walls._  You need soldiers sworn to protect their fellow people."

He looked down on them. "Like you."

"Why the fuck would we work for you?" the man without teeth asked.

"Because you need a leader," Philip said, spreading his hands. His gun belt clinked and shifted on his waist as he moved and drew all eyes to it. "You need someone to keep you in check. Someone to motivate you to WORK. _"_ His face fell, the mirth dropping away with frightening severity. "Someone to show you what it would be like if you failed."

The man, whose gaze hadn't left Philip since he had walked in, finally moved a little in his position on the floor, one arm resting on his knee. The rest of the men deferred to him as he spoke. "You paint a pretty picture for one da-angerous lick of a man, Boots. Look what you did to us." He waved his hand around to the group of men on either side of him. "But I'm thinking we need a  _reason,_  to trust you. Better than-- your sense of patriotism."

Philip tilted his head to one side, looking at the man. This one was different.

"You prove your worth and you'll go far," he said to him. "We'll make the best haven there is- stocked high with food, beer, weapons, anything any man could ever want."

"Women?" asked one of the men, and Philip smiled impatiently.

The man who had spoken lifted a finger and nodded his head. "All-right. I think we may have ourselves a little deal." He closed his mouth, then opened it again and touched his lower lip with his tongue, like something had just occurred to him. "When you say anythin'..."

Philip smile deepened, as he folded his arms. "Name your price."

The man put his hand down on the floor, twisting his body to the left. Philip's eyes followed the movement of his torso, from the hand planted on the floor to the bulky line of his shoulders, his upper arm and elbow, to the gap where he expected to see--

"I saw your soldier," the man said, eyes glinting up at Philip. "Big, silvery-lookin' thing. Went all the way up to his shoulder."

"I'm missin' a hand, 'case you didn't notice." He grinned up at Philip. "Think you can make me a new one?"

 

-

 

Philip met with the Asset in the hallway that separated the two apartments. "He asleep?"

The Asset nodded, and Philip got the impression that in that moment the Asset was almost bouncing on his toes to go back into the room with the rest of the men and keep watch, only stuck here by his need to obey.

He knew it was his own instruction, but it was still annoying.

"Feed them," he said. "Give them water, pain medication -- home comforts. Let them be men."

The Asset blinked and then nodded.

"Go," Philip said, and the Asset put his head down and let himself back into the apartment.

 

-

 

Philip, on the other hand, had somewhere else to be.

When he let himself down through the skylight, the sun was just beginning to creep around the edges of the curtains. He cracked them open, peered outside for a moment, then closed them and headed into the master bedroom.

Into the second rucksack went everything he had yet to pack. He had kept behind most of the medical supplies the Asset had found - yes, some of them had gone to the men they were keeping below, but most were still up here, along with all of the weapons.

Once he had everything he would need from the bedroom, he searched the living room for necessities, packing bags with food and anything they could use to make living bearable. If the men were still friendly in the morning, they would carry these. Philip could picture their eyes - wide, like saucers.

He was so engrossed in his task that he didn't notice when Penny's door opened, nor when she stepped into the room. It was only when he heard her yawn that he turned, caught off guard, and had to switch his concentration to a smile.

"What are you doing?" Penny burbled, as she wandered over, rubbing her fists on her eyelids.

"Packing," Philip said, from where he was, kneeling on the floor in front of several full bags. He reached over as she came closer and ruffled her head. "Nothing to worry about."

"Where we going?" she asked him, peering into the bag he was currently filling.

He looked at her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Somewhere better," he said, sincerely.

Philip turned back to his task, folding a blanket over and over in order to make it fit. "Haven't you missed playing outside? Making friends? We can do all that where we're going."

He paused and turned to look at her when she didn't reply.

Penny was stood still with one finger in her mouth, staring at him.

"We can get a dog," Philip said.

"I don't want a dog," Penny said quietly.

"You don't want to go outside?" Philip asked. "Is that what it is?"

"No," Penny said.

"You don't want to go somewhere else?"

"No."

Philip went back to packing the bag.

"Where's Asset?" Penny asked after a moment.

"He's busy," Philip said. "It was his idea. He wanted to give you a whole new place to live. Somewhere you wouldn't have to be afraid."

Penny was silent at his side as the bag rustled with each new item.

"He's coming back soon," Philip continued. "Do you want me to tell him you don't want to come? I'm sure he'll be very disappointed. After all the preparation he's done."

There was a silence, then Penny stamped her foot and strode back into her room, leaving Philip behind.

He carried on filling the bags until he dropped a can, and clutched onto the straps of the bag, his knuckles turning white and the back of his hands a deep red. He exhaled forcefully and grit his teeth, letting go of the bag and planting his right hand flat on the floor. He wanted to- wanted to- wanted to--

The fury boiled up in him and he grabbed the can, throwing it into the bathroom with all the force he could muster. It bounced off something delicate with a  _CLUNK_ and Philip curled his fingers inward, inhaling, exhaling--

Shouting.

Why could he hear that?

For a second he was back in a tiny apartment surrounded by noise, before his brain caught up with him and he listened, hard, to confirm it.

Voices were yelling. People were in the apartments.

He got to his feet, touching the gun on his hip and bellowing "STAY HERE!" to Penny, before he climbed out of the skylight and onto the roof, hurrying across the building towards the apartments he had left their captives in.

Jogging down the hall, the voices blared out from the one with the group of men in it. They were hollering, shouting, nothing the Asset would tolerate, and then--

He threw open the door, striding in with his gun up and yelled: "GET ON THE FLOOR."

Faces flew towards him and turned white, and everyone froze.

"DO I HAVE TO REPEAT MYSELF? EVERYONE ON THE FLOOR."

Men dropped to the ground, putting their hands up in a way that remained universally understood despite the disappearance of the US police force. They all went down, and Philip searched for the Asset in the room but didn't find him, until his eyes went to the center.

His breath left his body and he stepped back, unwilling to see what he was seeing.

There were three of them around him, two of them looking like they'd just shit their pants - those that still had their pants on. The Asset was stripped to his shirt and even that was half-off, as he lay unmoving on the floor looking at the ground beneath Philip's feet.

Philip's heart was pounding in his chest, the anger having been sucked out of him by the adrenaline, but when he looked to the three men for an explanation, his eyes found the third man.

"You got a pretty little thing here," the man said to Philip, grinning, as he slapped the Asset's bare ass. "Takes it like she been takin' it all her life."

Philip fired without thinking, striding towards him, then fired again, hitting him in the chest. The man fell backwards and moved no more. 

Philip turned to the first man and shot him, then the second and did the same. Then he took the Asset by the back of his shirt and hauled him to his feet, dragging him out of the door.

He had no words, so he only brought the Asset down the hall and dropped him there, before striding back towards the door, then turning and walking up again, then down again. Eventually, he stopped and stood at the balcony at the end of the hall and looked out at the street below, the Asset in a bedraggled heap a few feet behind him.

"Did you enjoy it?" was the first thing Philip said, staring out at the abandoned cars littering the street.

The Asset didn't answer.

Philip pressed his lips together in a firm line, so hard it started to hurt and he inhaled instead. His gut was blazing with fire and every breath of oxygen coaxed the flames higher. Every tight exhale opened the door and let little embers escape, burning his throat.

"Why," he stated.

The Asset didn't answer for a moment, and Philip thought he heard him swallow, before he said, very carefully: "Let them be men."

It didn't make sense at first, until the words clicked in his memory.

He turned and strode back down the hallway, opening the door into the apartment and shutting it behind him, working the flames into power.

"Who are they?" Philip asked, of the three bodies on the floor.

"Beck," someone said.

"Richard. Ramirez."

"Throw them out the window," Philip said.

They went to work, the two remaining men, heaving each body up and shoving them out the biggest gap they could get from the window. It took them a while, but they got it done, and Philip looked each of them up and down when they had finished, blood and dust from the floor all over their hands.

"What are your names?" Philip asked.

"Benji," said the first man, holding out his hand. Philip took it, giving him a shake.

"Dixon," said the second, and held out his right as the other man had. "First name, Merle." Philip grinned as he realised the offer and shook his wrist stump.

"Guess I ought to get you that other hand," he said, and Merle laughed.

Philip grin stayed with him for a second, then slowly disappeared as his eyes drifted back to the blood on the floor. He met their gaze - he was taller than both of them, and didn't give them an inch.

"Don't touch him," he said, and that was it.

He smiled, teeth showing in the corners, and folded his arms. "We leave tomorrow at dawn. I have packs for both of you and supplies."

"Is... Martinez part of our crew?" Merle said, his eyebrows and shoulders raising in an anticipatory shrug.

"If you can convince him," Philip said, shortly, then about-turned. 

"He'll need one of you to lean on, anyway," he said, as he went to the door. "Bullet wound like that, take a couple weeks to heal up properly."

He left them in their room and went across the corridor, still aware of the collapsed form in the corner of his vision.

Martinez was still doped, but awake this time. Philip took him by the elbow and brought him to his feet, talking to him, coaxing him up. "Come on," he intoned, "Merle and Benji are in the next room, they'll take care of you. Get you back on your feet."

The IV bag came with him, and Philip set him down on the floor in the apartment across the way, handing the drip to one of the men to hang up high.

"He's drugged," Philip said. "For the pain."

He left them with Martinez and locked the door behind him, heading over to where the Asset was still crumpled on the ground. 

"Here," he said. "I brought your clothes."

Philip threw them on the floor beside the Asset's body, then sighed when he didn't move and slid down onto the ground with his back against the wall.

He tried to say that he wasn't angry, or upset, or whatever the right emotion was in this sort of situation. MostlyPhilip was angry that he himself had fucked up, that he had given an order that could be misconstrued in such a manner.

He glanced at the Asset, then reached over and hesitantly set his hand in the Asset's hair, turning it over and over through his fingers. He didn't say anything, just played with the dark, shoulder-length hair as the coil in his gut wound tighter and tighter.

"Don't take those orders," Philip said, very quietly, eventually. "Anymore."

The Asset still didn't move, but Philip felt that he had unwound ever so slightly.

His hand drifted down to the Asset's neck beneath his hair and sought knots to smooth out; he brushed his thumb over the raise of the Asset's spine protruding from his skull. He didn't move his hand any further, just left it there, working and moving, and somewhere along the line he scooped up the Asset's head and laid it in his lap, running his hand through the Asset's hair over and over and over.

It had to be later when the Asset sighed and Philip realised he had gone to sleep. Or had he? Philip didn't want to say anything in case it woke him up.

He watched the rise and fall of the Asset's chest and found some hairs that had strayed across his face, wavering up and down with the flow of his breathing. Philip picked them up with the backs of his fingers and flipped them back into the right place, stroking them down. 

One of the hairs bounced stubbornly back over the Asset's face, and Philip went to move it again, tucking it behind the Asset's ear. His hand hovered, not quite sure what it was looking for, before he moved it down and brushed his thumb over the Asset's lower lip.

The Asset stirred slightly and Philip jerked his hand away, setting it on the floor beside them. He sat there thinking about what he was going to do as the sun rose higher and the men talked in the apartment next door.


	5. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Or else he might be moved, and try_   
>  _To comfort or console:_   
>  _And what should Human Pity do_   
>  _Pent up in Murderers’ Hole?_   
>  _What word of grace in such a place_   
>  _Could help a brother’s soul?_
> 
> \- Oscar Wilde, The Ballad Of Reading Gaol

He had to break it to Penny gently, and he did, as far as he was able.

Philip came back into their apartment with the Asset all wrapped up and clothed, and left him on the couch in a blanket bundle. "He's tired," he said to Penny.

They packed her possessions together: her clothes, her spare pair of shoes, the paper, pens and colouring books that she liked.

"Don't you get fed up of colouring these?" Philip asked, flipping through one of the books with almost every page covered in doodles.

"I'm  _drawing,"_  Penny said, and that was that.

He made her up a little backpack with Spongebob giving a thumbs up on the back. It was for kids, so it fit, but he still didn't overfill it, his mind far ahead and already picking her up to run and dropping it.

"We're travelling with a few people," Philip said eventually, at some point during the day. He couldn't put it off any longer.

Penny didn't really hear him at first, then glanced up and looked at him.

"Stay away from them," Philip said, and she nodded and looked back down.

Later still, when Philip had lit the single candle he had kept out of their bags, the Asset finally stirred.

The sofa creaked as he moved, and both Philip and Penny turned to watch him as he uncurled.

"Good sleep?" Philip asked, and got a faint "mmm" in answer.

Something touched his hand, and he looked down to see Penny's fingers over his own. She was asking him something with her eyes. Philip's lips formed the word  _Sure._

She jumped down from the kitchen unit chair and went over towards the Asset, her hands pulling the skin of one another in front of her. She hesitated, before she very delicately climbed onto the couch and sat down with her knees up next to him.

Philip watched them both: the Asset still wound up so tight, even awake, assuming he hadn't already been awake, staring at Penny and away from Penny like a dog expecting pain.

But Penny didn't have it in her to deliver pain, and she only sat there hugging her knees, her entire side pressed up against the Asset. Philip watched as the cord inside of the man slowly unraveled.

After half an hour of peace, Philip spoke into the silence. "Weapons," he said.

Both of them glanced up at him, Penny with confusion, the Asset with dawning realisation. His gaze with Philip's was still but returning to alive, like he was rebooting, firing up the processors that had shut down earlier that day. 

"Weapons," he repeated back at Philip.

"I have enough ammo for my gun," Philip began, not bothering to move from his seat at the table. "But we have new men. Men who will want to be armed."

"Give them something they can swing," he decided. "No guns. Not yet."

The Asset remained still, then nodded.

"Take whatever you need," Philip continued. "We'll carry the rest. No sense in leaving it behind."

"Can I have something, daddy?"

He turned to Penny, surprised, and then not sure why he was surprised.

"Asset will protect you, sweetie," he said. "And if he's busy, I will. Besides, all of these are far too heavy for you."

She made a face, flopping back into the cushions, and Philip smiled without meaning to. He stood up from the table and came over, dropping the gun bag at the Asset's feet and leaning over to ruffle Penny's hair. "Hey, when we get to where we're going I'll teach you, how about that? You can be just like us."

Penny bit her lip, but then she nodded furiously.

"Atta girl."

 

-

 

"Where are your people?" Philip said, the next morning, once he had the three men gathered in the lobby at the base of the building.

"Parking structure, next to Centennial Park," Benji replied. He had Martinez's arm around his neck and was supporting his quasi-leader as best as possible. "It's safe."

"'Til your boy broke in there," Merle's wheedling voice interrupted. He shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows how safe it is now."

"We're going there first," Philip said, and began to grab the packs on the floor. 

"Ah-ahhh," Merle said, and Philip eyed him. "I wouldn't do that if I was you. Place is  _crawlin'_  with the dead. Wouldn't want anyone to get bit, now, would you?"

Philip smiled with his teeth. "Better than staying here," and Merle raised his eyebrows and had to nod in agreement with that.

They took their allocated packs, even Martinez getting one, with Philip's sharp gaze all over him as he handed it over. Martinez stared right back, daring Philip to say he couldn't carry it.

"We'll drive in as far as we can," Philip said. "When we can't drive, we'll  _walk._  Any questions?"

No one answered, but when Philip bent down to sling his own pack over his shoulder, he felt the stir of a silence too deep to be normal.

"Well I'll be damned," Merle said, quietly, and Benji swore.

Turning around to see what had transfixed them, Philip's gaze found the Asset, in full combat regalia, walking in with Penny's fingers clutched tightly in his hand. Her eyes were wide as she regarded the three strangers, darting to the leg Martinez didn't have his full weight on and up to Benji's shock of blonde hair.

Merle raised his missing hand and waved at her. "Hello, little lady."

She gasped and hid behind the Asset.

"This ain't no kind of life for a kid," Benji said as Philip walked over to the Asset, taking the three melee weapons he intended to give to the men.

"You serious?" Martinez said, as Philip brought them over, breaking the men temporarily out of their spell. Philip caught his eye and a wry smile curved in the corner of his mouth. "Pick one," he told them all.

Benji took the bat, Martinez the machete and Merle took the crowbar. "S'gonna hurt whatever way it comes at it," he reasoned.

"Y'all ready?" Philip asked, stepping back and feeling their eyes creep behind him to look for Penny again. "Anybody need the bathroom?"

Benji snorted.

"Then move out. Head for the car," Philip said. They started forward in a rag-tag formation, heading towards the lobby doors. "Protect the group," he said. "Stay together. And aim for the head."

They pushed through the lobby doors and out into the dawn.

 

-

 

Merle drove in mostly silence. Philip sat beside him, Penny on his lap, and the Asset in the rear with the other two men squashed next to him. They seemed mildly uncomfortable.

"I'm still not buyin' it," came Martinez's voice, eventually.

Philip half-turned his face to the middle, showing he was listening.

"A soldier, a kid... and  _this guy?_ " Martinez snorted. "What did you do before this all went down - group therapy?"

"I told you," Philip said, a smooth drawl in his voice. "I'm a car salesman."

"Frankly, it's hard to believe."

Philip could feel more than see Martinez eyeing up Benji, trying to get him on board, trying to catch Merle's eye in the mirror so that he'd have some backup in this conversation.

"You want to know what I did before the apocalypse," Philip said, turning back to face the front.

There was a silence, and then- "Yeah."  _Go on. Dare you._

Philip smiled, the corners of his mouth just raising over his teeth. He could feel all of their attention on him. Penny bounced in his lap.

"Before the world went to shit," he said, "I sold old bangers to people who'd spend their last lick of cash on dope and booze. They all had kids at home, and a wife, but they'd come out to the lot and look at these pimped-out pieces of crap, and then I'd make 'em think they were the biggest steal in the world."

Philip glanced across the car and his smile widened into a grin. "'Course, it wasn't true. Give 'em four weeks and the guy'd be back, demandin' his money and hollerin' all over the shop about justice."

"So I'd say: Hey, alright, alright. Follow me out back and I'll get your money and your justice. So the guys who had a bit of sense would leave, right? But most of them hadn't a spitwad of sense between them, so they'd come on out. And I'd give 'em a cigarette and say Here's your money, and they'd laugh and tell me to get. And so I'd put a piece between their eyes and say And here's justice."

He started laughing, so hard he almost wept, and held onto Penny for dear life with both of his arms. When he got ahold of himself, he put his chin on her shoulder and held her close to him.

The car was quieter than the dead.

 

-

 

They drove on and on, steering around debris and bodies in the road. Biters lurched at them from the shadows, mouthes open and hands stretching towards the car. Merle flipped them off as they drove by.

"How much further is this home of yours?" Philip called out to the men in the back.

"Opposite side- ah!" Martinez grunted as the car went over a bump. "-of the city centre."

The number of biters had been growing and growing as they drove further into Atlanta. Merle glanced over at Philip with a whistly-toothed grin. "You suuure you don't wanna turn back now? We can build that town without  _them."_

"No!" Martinez said from the back, then, when Philip looked at him: "We gotta get them. It's only fair."

Merle's grin grew wider. "Alriiiight."

He hooked a wide left turn into the city, making everyone hold onto their seats, but when he saw what lay ahead his face dropped. 

Wide, frightened eyes peered from the stopped car to the road ahead. Penny grabbed Philip's hand with both of hers and his grip tightened in answer.

Swelling, festering masses of the dead were crowding the streets all the way onto the sidewalk. Some were half blown-up, some dragging themselves across the floor. All of them turned to look at the new arrivals.

"Shit!" 

Merle stomped on the gas pedal and the car squealed, racing backwards across the tarmac. It back-pedalled a good ten feet, then slammed to a halt and everyone yelled, turning as one towards the groaning, snarling mess of a thing they had hit.

"Everybody out!" Philip bellowed, and they plowed out of the car, grabbing weapons and whirling around to face the enemy. Benji pulled Martinez out, half-holding him up as they backed away from the car.

Philip tossed Penny into his arms and held her there with one arm, unholstering his gun and blasting a biter in the brain behind them. "This way!"

They ran down an alleyway, Merle and Philip in the lead, the others lagging behind. Philip didn't look back. He knew his Asset would follow.

The alley opened up onto a street and the dead came at them.

Lurching forward, Merle swung the crowbar and smashed away half of a face. He stepped over the body and swung his weapon again, catching a biter in the side and throwing it to the ground where it snarled at him.

Something grabbed Philip's shoulder and Penny screeched. He staggered -thrown off balance - which loosened the biter's grip, then put his gun between its teeth and blew its head off. Penny shut her eyes and buried her face in his shoulder.

He kicked a loose hand aside and ran on, following Merle through the string of walking dead. Behind him and around him he could hear the much louder roar of the crowd. None of them wanted to stick around to wait for that.

Snarls filled the air where they had been, and Philip turned despite himself. There, left to face the wake of bodies he and Merle had attracted were Benji and Martinez, hovering at the opening of the alleyway.

"Come on!" Philip yelled, but it was like neither of them could hear him.

He fired, hitting one of the biters in the stomach, and then Benji finally turned toward him, hoisting the limping Martinez to his side and beginning to leg it past the hoards. One of them got a hand on Benji's shoulder and he yelped; Martinez shoved the machete through its arm.

When they caught up to them, Martinez's face was grim and white. Philip glanced at the fervour of the dead and knew that he must be bleeding again. He grabbed Benji's spare arm and yanked. "Come  _on!"_

In the next alley, Merle was fighting with two of them, his back to the wall.

Philip grabbed Martinez's machete and stabbed it through one of the biters' heads, giving Merle enough room to draw his arm back and shove the crowbar through the second one. Merle drew back, breathing hard, blood all over the sleeve of his other arm.

Philip glanced down at it and Merle went pale, following his gaze, but he laughed when he saw where Philip was looking and held up the stump of his wrist. "'Take more than that to get what  _I_  took."

They were all breathing hard, and Philip's shoulders were starting to burn with the effort of holding Penny for so long. He licked his lips and glanced around the alley, wishing for guns. "Where's the Asset?"

Half of them looked around, picking up by context who he meant. Martinez was the only one who stared back at him, face rippling in some incomprehensible expression. "You don't know his  _name?"_

The Asset was nowhere to be seen, and, thinking back to when he'd watched Benji hover at the end of that alleyway, Philip couldn't say he'd seen the Asset then, either. He looked back at Martinez, half full of fury, half something else.

Biter snarls broke his concentration, and Philip readjusted Penny in his arms. "Go," he said, starting to move himself forward. "GO!"

Merle glanced at the name of the alley as they sped out of it, dodging biters left and right. They made it across the street and onto the next one, then the next, and the next, until all of them were flagging. The dead seemed only to increase, fired up by the fresh, bleeding meal running for their lives.

"Philip!" Martinez yelled, three streets later, and then a scream lit up the street behind them. Philip whirled, raising his gun, firing once- twice-- empty. Benji clawed at the dead mouth on his shoulder and dropped to his knees, shrieking in horror. 

"Philip!" Martinez repeated, from the circle of biters closing in on the two of them. Half of the dead had peeled away, drawn by Benji's blood. The rest now staggered towards him, unfazed by the machete he held in front of him. "Any fucking time!"

Philip clicked open his revolver and pushed new rounds into each case, heading towards the circle of biters and the growing mound of what had once been Benji. Penny was holding onto him and he had one arm underneath her, supporting her weight.

The biters grew close, then closer, one falling forward and straight onto Martinez's machete. Martinez withdrew the blade, staggering backwards and clutching onto his thigh with his other hand.

The second closest snarled and reached for him next, grabbing onto the arm that held his weapon. Martinez shoved it outward - the only thing he could do - before letting go of his leg and grabbing the machete with that blood-soaked hand, driving it into the biter's brain. 

That was it; there were too many of them. He stumbled backwards and when he put his weight on his wounded leg it gave out, throwing him to the ground. He yelled in pain. 

Philip walked towards him and Martinez caught his eye through the group of bodies, pleading with him, then all of a sudden knowing.

He pressed his hand down on his bleeding thigh and ducked his head, cringing on the ground away from all of them.

_Shwup. Shwu-shu-shup._

Biters fell; bright holes bursting from their skulls. 

Philip loaded his gun and turned, ready to fire back. Dark eyes looked at him in return, beneath a dark wash of hair. Biters dropped to the ground.

It took Martinez a minute to realise his life was no longer in danger. He peered out from beneath his raised hand, leaning away from the dead on the road around him. He saw Philip, then turned to look where he was looking.

Neither of them said a word.

A metal creak split the silence and Merle popped his head up through the hatch of the tank. "Well lookee here," he said, to the Asset who was sitting cross-legged on the top. "We found us some skinny-lookin' stragglers!"

 

-

 

They loaded Martinez in first, the Asset swarming over him to stop the bleeding. "He needs a doner," the Asset said, with gauze in hand and a needle between his teeth. Philip and Merle looked at each other.

Without asking them, the Asset threw off his jacket and tore a strip of fabric off the cuff of his pants, tying it around his right arm with his metal hand and his teeth. Dumping one of the bags he was carrying onto the tank floor, he rummaged through it and found what he needed.

"Put pressure on that," Philip muttered to Merle, who moved over to Martinez's side and held the palm of his hand to the hastily-bandaged thigh wound. 

The Asset handed Philip what looked like several test-tubes with plastic ends and uncapped a needle, screwing it into a little plastic barrel. He rested his flesh arm underside up against his knee and pressed the fingers holding the contraption against his arm, feeling for a vein.

Philip knelt down, and, with his free hand, spread his fingers over the Asset's arm, keeping the skin there taut. The Asset glanced up at him, before looking back down and casually inserting the needle. It looked like blood should come rushing out, but it didn't, and when the Asset motioned to the test-tubes in Philip's hand he understood.

Leaving most of them in his lap, Philip took one and slowly pressed it into the plastic barrel attached to the needle. The moment it locked into place, blood flowed into it like water.

When the first had filled up, Philip unscrewed the test-tube and replaced it with the second. Then again, and again.

When they had enough, the Asset leaned down and untied the tourniquet with his teeth, still holding the barrel-needle contraption in place. Then he removed that too, pressing his index finger to the site for a moment.

He took out an IV bag of saline and fiddled with the tubes, making the saline start to drip. Philip took the bag from him and hung it up on the ceiling, watching the Asset work in fascination.

The Asset was fitting a catheter on Martinez - this one was different to the needle the Asset had used on his own arm, and he was being more careful with it, swabbing Martinez's arm with some kind of antiseptic first.

Five minutes later, when the IV was set up and the saline dripping into Martinez's veins, Philip watched the Asset inject his own blood into the IV bag.

"I ain't no doctor," Merle said, and Philip almost jumped, having forgotten he was there. "But that sure don't look kosher."

The Asset glanced towards him, his gaze calm and steady as always.

"What?" Merle said.

With a brief look at Philip, the Asset's eyes turned back to Merle. "It will help," was all he said, before he turned back to the IV.

When Martinez was stable and accepting the fluids, Philip left the Asset's side and squeezed past the rest of them, coming to crouch next to the driver's seat where Penny was sitting. 

"Hey," he said, bracing one hand on the side.

She didn't answer, slowly swinging her legs back and forth where they didn't reach the floor.

"We're safe now," Philip said, then shifted a little forward in the silence. "You okay?"

Penny carried on looking forward - maybe out at the dials and levers that made up this side of the tank, maybe just for the sake of not looking at him.

Philip's lower lip pressed against his upper one, then released. He put one hand on what he assumed was the gearshift. "You wanna drive?"

She looked at him then, startled out of her mood, before her face shifted to a sort of tolerating wariness. She nodded, a slow up-and-down.

"Alright," Philip said. "Let's see how this thing works."

They figured it out, with a lot of stopping and starting and far too many unhelpful comments from Merle. Soon, though, Penny was at the helm of the beast, trundling forward through the streets and (Philip could only assume) mowing down biters.

She let out a shriek of a giggle as they reached the end of the avenue, and Philip - "Turn! Turn!  _Turrrrnnn!_ " - hollered delightedly over the sound of Martinez's faint moaning. The tank pulled to the right and they were off again, an unstoppable force in the middle of the city streets.

Sometime later, Merle said: "It's up here, last on the left," and Philip wriggled forward, getting to his feet as much as he was able.

"Mind if Daddy takes over for the last bit?" he asked Penny, and she shook her head, a smile brushed across her whole expression. 

"Oh-kay!" he said, and lifted her down, where she sat on the floor exactly where he had been. Philip took up the station.

"You've got biters crawling all over your building," Philip said, peering out of the driver's periscope as the tank drew closer.

Merle let out a low whistle. "Your lil man made a real big mess comin' in."

Philip glanced over his shoulder and met the eyes of the Asset. The Asset looked cooly back. No, he didn't think so either.

He turned back to the controls and pulled the tank to a halt. "I'll let 'em know we're here."

He felt them scramble behind him as they realised what that meant, right as his fist closed around the proverbial trigger.

_SHUNT._

The tank coughed backwards and Philip watched in glee as the biters exploded into bits, some of them even flying up into the air. Merle swore behind him, then must have heard the clank of the Asset loading a second shell into the gun port, because he swore again, then started laughing. "You're crazy, man! Crazy!"

Machine-gun fire spat at the biters from above, splitting the ones that remained behind into one- two-- three pieces. Heads blew backward, snarls cut off with mouths still open. Philip started the tank moving forward again and dwelled in the sounds of snapping beneath the vehicle's tread.

The tank jerked and a second shell exploded in front of them, popping a giant hole into the spread of biters. "Fifty feet out!" Philip yelled to the rest of the occupants.

"They're gettin' in!" Merle yelled back. Philip peered out of his scope and spotted the entrance to the parking structure. It was littered with bodies, but the dead were still able to stagger over the top.

Aiming the tank directly at the entrance, Philip glanced at Penny and leaned down to take her hand. "Hold tight," he said to her alone, and his eyes shone with fire.

Three, two, one, and-- 

CRUNCH.

The tank whirred for one furious second, before Philip threw it into park.

There. They were in. Whether they could get out again was the question, but for now, the biters had only a fraction of the space to squeeze through and get into the structure. And it was a space that rapidly became deadly as the Asset swung out of the top hatch and sprayed bullets, taking out as much of the hoard that had entered as possible. Merle grabbed a gun out of the pack and joined him, whooping and hollering as he fired.

Philip stood up and Penny immediately crowded behind him, her fingers clutched so tightly in his own that they could have been surgically sewn together.

When the hail of firing slowed, Philip moved towards the hatch and peered up at what he could see of the two men there. "How does it look?"

The Asset was the first one to peer back. "Empty," he said.

Merle held up his gun. "Hell yeah!"

"Any sign of survivors?" Philip reiterated.

Merle left Philip's field of vision as he looked around, but the Asset remained firmly where he was, keeping eye contact with Philip.  _Empty._

"I want you with my daughter," Philip said to the Asset, moments later, making his decision. "Keep the gun trained on my path." At that, his browline dropped, giving away his real expression.  _You'll know when to use it._

"Sir," the Asset said, then climbed back in through the hatch. Philip looked at him for half a second, not sure if he'd ever called him that before.

Testing the weight of the revolver on his hip, Philip turned and knelt down to cup Penny's face. Her fingers still clutched tight to his left hand. 

"Be good," he said, stroking back a hair that had escaped across her face. He leant forward and kissed her forehead, then gently untangled their hands and placed hers on the strap of her rucksack.

He lifted himself up through the hatch of the tank and could have sworn he felt her eyes on him until he disappeared.


	6. Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He lay as one who lies and dreams_   
>  _In a pleasant meadow-land,_   
>  _The watcher watched him as he slept,_   
>  _And could not understand_   
>  _How one could sleep so sweet a sleep_   
>  _With a hangman close at hand?_
> 
> \- Oscar Wilde, The Ballad Of Reading Gaol

They climbed down from the tank and wandered up the ramp into the complex.

"What floor?" Philip asked as they strode side-by-side across the concrete.

"Fourth," Merle said, his eyes peeling away from the abandoned cars to stick onto Philip. Philip touched the gun on his hip, but did not draw it.

"How many?"

"Bout twenty five. Thirty. Kids, women, men."

"Martinez sent most of you after him."

Merle grinned. "Da-amn right."

They crept up the empty ramps, Merle holding the semi-automatic he had claimed from their bag. Philip didn't see any reason to take it away from him. Not yet.

Biters were fewer in the parking structure itself: the ones that were roaming here were strewn out and wandering amongst the cars. Merle punted a few with his crowbar when they came too close, and Philip stabbed one in the head.

They came to the end of the third floor, splattered with a few extra droplets of gore. Philip put his knife away and looked at Merle until he did the same. The concrete wall beside the ramp proclaimed in bright blue letters: FOUR.

Climbing the car ramp with heavy tread, Philip turned the corner at the end and came face-to-face with a group of terrified faces. They were on the ground in a circle, with cars lined around them for some sense of protection. Two of them scrambled to grab their guns and Philip slowly raised his hands.

"Who are you?!" one of them cried out.

"Philip," he said, projecting his voice in the echoey lot. "Philip Blake. I'm with your companion, Merle."

Merle stepped forward and some of them visibly relaxed. One of the women stepped out and ran over, straight towards him. "Caesar," she said, her hands clasped in front of her, running over and over her fingers together. "Is Caesar all right? Tell me he's alive!"

"He's alive," Philip said, turning to face her, before he turned back to address the group. "Martinez is receiving medical treatment from my best men. If anyone could bring him back from the dead, they could."

"He's alive?" one voice called out, then several others started to speak. "And Morello?" "Benji?" "Jackson?"

Philip put one of his hands out in a request for quiet, then shook his head.

Pieces of the group curled in on each other, cries spilling into the air. He wondered if they had been brothers, fathers, uncles.

Slowly, he put down his hands. One of the two gunmen had his head in his hands.

"We have supplies; weapons; food and water. Our group can help you live, rather than just... survive, in a place like this." Philip gestured to the city outside. "There's no place here for the living. This city is overrun with the dead!"

The woman beside Merle was clinging to his shoulder, trying to breathe deeply. Merle looked only slightly uncomfortable. He was stood at Philip's side like a statue: a symbol of Philip's ability to fulfil promises like these.

"Come with us and we can help you find a place in this world," Philip said, reaching across and putting his hand around Merle's shoulders for all to see, pulling him in. Unity. "A family."

"If Caesar is with you, I will go with you," the woman said, wiping her eyes and letting go.

"I'll go!" said one of the men, standing up rather unsteadily, before coming over to him.

The group looked at each other on the cold concrete ground, before little pieces of it began to break off, reassembling crowded in front of Philip like sheep falling into flock.

"We need vehicles. Transport. Do any of these cars work?"

"This one does," said one of the women, heading over to a 4x4.

"Test all of the vehicles you can find," said Philip. "Bring any that work over to the top of this ramp."

"We can't just drive out," the man who hadn't dropped his gun said. "Like you said, this place is crawling with the dead."

Philip smiled, something odd and satisfied crawling across his face. "Trust me," he said.

They formed three groups of four, a number that totalled two children, six women and four men. Philip and Merle escorted the three cars they had scavenged down to the first floor, taking out any biters that had stirred towards the sound of engines.

Down and down and down they went, until they reached the entrance. Philip couldn't resist a glance in the first car's windshield, watching their eyes go wide with shock.

He had to admit, the tank looked pretty imposing from the ground.

"Asset!" he called, and the hatch opened instantly. Philip tilted his head on one side when he saw him, questioning.

The Asset nodded back.  _Clear. Good to go._

Turning back towards the cars, Philip waved them forward, waiting until the first pulled alongside. He leaned over to speak through the window. "Stay close. Keep your head." As he ducked back out he slapped his hand on the roof twice for luck.

Merle was stood next to the tank, waiting for him. His place was in the rear car. "You wily sunuvabitch," he said as Philip came closer. "Puttin' me out in the cold with the piss-scared civilians."

Philip grinned and cuffed his shoulder. "You're drivin'!"

He climbed up the tank and paused halfway into the hatch, looking out at the idling cars. Feeling like this was a sort of momentous occasion, he searched for something meaningful to say, something to really celebrate the moment.

In the end, he settled for: "Drive like the fucking reaper's at your heels! 'Cause he'll take any chance you give him!"

Slamming the hatch behind him and locking it in place, Philip dropped down to the tank interior where Penny, the Asset, and Martinez's drugged eyes watched him, waiting for instruction.

"Prepare to move," Philip said, and headed for the controls.

 

-

 

Wondering if the building would collapse the moment the tank drove out of it, Philip had told the group to drive out quick. No matter the state of Atlanta out there, it was better than being buried in rubble.

The tank growled to life, then whirred as Philip worked the controls. "Strap your seatbelt on, honey," he said to Penny out of the corner of his mouth.

She buckled herself in and Philip shoved the tank into what amounted for first gear. It began to shake, ever so slightly, as the floor above cracked and crumbled with the movement.

Unable to see what he was heading into, Philip tucked his tongue into the corner of his mouth and grinned. "Here we go."

The tank treads whistled, then began to roll as Philip eased them out ever so gently. He moved mostly by instinct, his eyes fluttering closed as he listened to the world outside, and as the beast emerged from its moorings he began to hear snarls returning to them.

"Visual," came the Asset's measured voice from above, in the gunner's seat.

"How many?" Philip asked.

There was a pause, then: "Many."

The wall of the parking structure slid out of view and brought sight back to Philip's periscope. He saw them out there in their masses, and changed tack.

Concrete above them splintered and then-- CRACK.

Debris pelted the vehicle, bouncing off its tough exterior and rolling down the sides. Philip growled impatiently, and from a slow awakening the tank soared outward, straight into the mass of bodies.

CRUNCH. SNAP-SNAP-SQUELCH.

He squashed them like bugs staining his windshield. Under the treads they fell, bursting beneath the tank's weight with arms still reaching for the whir of its engines.

"YEAH!" Philip yelled, spinning the tank to the left to take out the flank. Machine-gun fire peppered the ones he missed, and in his mind Philip was also up there with his gunner, cheering him on. "COME on!"

The cars began to peel out of the complex behind them, running like nervous ducklings to the safety of mother tank. Philip felt their turret swing round to cover the survivors and concentrated on blasting all of the biters he could see out of the road in front of him.

"Sir!"

The Asset dropped down into the tank's main deck behind him. "Sir. One of the cars is stuck."

"They'll get unstuck!" Philip said, still focused on the rapidly-reddening road.

The Asset paused, then said: "It is the rear car, sir."

Exhaling through his nose, Philip turned around, his eyes falling on the Asset like red daggers. They looked at each other for a moment.

"Help it," Philip finally said, then turned back to his task.

The hatch opened and the Asset was gone in mere seconds. Hauling the tank forward and to the right, Philip yelled over his shoulder. "If you ever want to see your woman again, Martinez, now's the time!"

He had been strapped into a makeshift bench that opened out of the side. It wasn't exactly a hospital bed, but it had done as much.

Now, though, Martinez shook his head as if to clear it and pushed himself up to a sit. He looked lowly at Philip. "What do you need me for?"

"Load the gun," Philip said, coasting the tank to a stop side-on to the cars. "They're going to need cover."

Grabbing a weapon from the bag on the ground, Philip climbed onto his seat and opened the driver's ceiling hatch. He rested his elbow on the outside of the tank and put his eye to the sights.

There was the Asset: the only one out of a car in a sea of biters. People watched in terror as he used the first two vehicles for high ground, then remembered what they should really be afraid of as they saw the groups of dead beginning to crowd around them.

One reached for the Asset's foot as he rolled off the second car; Philip put a bullet in it.

The third and final car was back at the entrance to the parking garage, a big wedge of concrete the reason they were stuck. It had fallen and embedded itself in the front of the car, doing god-knows-what to the engine, effectively stranding them.

The Asset saw all of this in moments, Philip knew, and he focused on clearing a path for him. "How's the gun?" he shouted to Martinez.

"Loading!" Martinez yelled back from inside. Philip wondered how long it would take to drag the massive projectile needed to load the tank for a man with only one good leg.

As Philip put the gun back to his eye, a hand grabbed at his leg. "Daddy!" Penny shrieked, and only then did he hear the snarl.

Whirling around, Philip whacked the biter in the head with the butt of his weapon. Then he stood taller and swung the gun back, burying the grip in the thing's head on the second strike.

He shoved it off the tank and glanced over to where it had come from. Some of the stragglers he had missed were gathering there, peering and drooling at the fresh meal poking out of the top of the tank.

Someone screamed and Philip swung his attention back towards the cars, raising his gun. One of the men had tried to escape the stranded car and was being dragged off, blood pouring from his neck. His companions wailed and banged against the windows.

The Asset spun down from the roof of the car, pouncing on a biter and shoving his fist through its head. He turned, kicking out the feet of a second and stabbing a knife into the head of a third. Philip put a bullet in the fourth and wounded the fifth. The Asset continued like the help was only a new move in his game.

Only once the car was clear and the remaining biters were surrounding the other two cars did the Asset look up. His eyes met Philip's and Philip bit into his own lip, drawing blood that the nearby biters moaned for.

He nodded back at the Asset and dropped down into the driver's seat, closing the hatch. "Hold on," he said to Penny, and spun the tank into movement, turning them in a wide circle before setting course directly for the third car.

The tank roared towards the group, splattering biter guts all over the other two cars. Philip saw them both pull out of the grasp of the dead and shoot forward, escaping down the road. He let them go.

The Asset waited atop the roof of the third, hands by his side and staring at the oncoming vehicle.

When the tank slowed to a halt alongside the car, Philip threw the hatch open again and bolted out of it, gun ready to fire. There was a biter stuck halfway up the side of the tank: he sent it back to hell.

Keeping the gun held in one hand, Philip beckoned furiously to the group of people. The Asset dropped down and opened their car door.

"Climb, or die," Philip said from the top of the tank, and the occupants took up his offer. One by one, they crawled up the side, boosted by the Asset and grabbed by Philip once they reached him. 

He pushed them all into the belly of the beast and the Asset grabbed the very last one, carrying them up as he climbed the treads of the tank. He passed them over to Philip who grabbed them by the hand, blinking when he realised it was just a kid. 

In they went, lowered carefully by Philip into the arms of one of the group. The Asset came last, and Philip grabbed him by the hand too, even though he didn't really need to. It was more a show of unity: a sign that even though they hadn't known each other for very long, they were still a part of the same team.

"Get in," Philip said, and let go, following in after the Asset had disappeared. He spared a glance for the road ahead and saw nothing but biters.

"How are there so many of them?" a young woman asked, once he was back in the driver's seat. Penny was crouched at his feet, holding onto the tails of his shirt with her thumb in her mouth like she'd never seen so many people. 

"Shit happens," Philip grunted, and began to turn the tank back towards the street. "Ready to fire?"

"Ready!" Martinez called down from above, making the group jump.

"Then," said Philip, as he drew to face the enemy.  _"Fire."_

 

-

 

They blasted their way out in the end. People in the tank stood or sat, crammed into a space that really wasn't made for so many.

Philip felt good. He had the sun at his back and the wind in his hair, so to speak. Driving a tank down the wrong side of '85, there was little that could touch them. Even abandoned cars that lay half-blocking the road were no match for a thing that could roll over them.

Eventually, the shocked silence in the tank gave way to light talking, and the group digested the news that their companions had driven away. They were the smallest section by far: three rather than four, since their friend had lost his neck to the biters, and one was Merle and the other a kid. The woman who had asked about the size of them stood quietly to one side, one hand on the young boy's shoulder and the other holding onto something secure.

Martinez was still up in the turret and Philip wondered whether Caesar had asked too much from his injuries and was slowly bleeding out up there. He didn't bother to check.

The tank rolled on and after a couple of miles they were almost out of the city. Trees lined the freeway and soon they began getting signs telling them to turn off for Virginia Airport. Philip only breathed out a slightly amused bit of air and ignored them, continuing on.

"Sir," he heard, after a minute. The Asset was closer to his shoulder this time, as if he did not wish to reveal the nature of their relationship to what amounted to their new group of people.

"Yes," Philip said, as he drove.

The Asset did not answer, only pointed to something Philip hadn't seen, coming up beside the turning into the airport.

There, idling on the shoulder, lay the other two cars, as casually if they had been waiting for them. Philip smiled and glanced back over his shoulder, catching the eye of the rest of the occupants. "Take a look," he said, opening up the driver's hatch.

Merle was the first to look out, and he just laughed, dropping back in to shake his head and cuff Philip on the shoulder. Philip grinned.

The woman sidled up next, holding the hand of the young boy who stared at Penny as they drew closer. She climbed the first few rungs of the ladder and peered over the top, her face wan and drawn.

When she saw what lay in front of them, she totally changed: relief spread across her features like water and she smiled, open-mouthed and happy. Philip saw it all from his seat.

"Look Ben," she said, as she dropped down. "Look who it is."

She helped the boy onto the rungs of the ladder and held onto his waist as he popped his head up. He asked her what he was looking for and laughed too, until the woman brought him down and hugged him to her; he pressed her face tightly against her belly.

"Thank you," she said to Philip, and he nodded in return, his eyes flicking over the little boy.

"Philip," he said, holding out his hand. 

"Gemma," she replied, taking it in her own, and they shook for a moment before Philip smiled a smile that lit up his face. "I guess we'll go say hi," he said.

They parked the tank beside the cars, where everyone was getting out to meet them, and Gemma came out first. The Asset followed and held her hand to guide her down, and she looked back at him briefly when she realised. "Well, aren't you polite."

The Asset hesitated, then nodded and went to bring out the young boy. Gemma held out her arms and the Asset took great care to make sure Ben touched down unharmed.

Philip came next, followed by Merle, who held his ground at the top of the tank until Philip had eased Penny out. She clutched his hand as she reached the open air, blinking in the sudden light and looking warily in the direction of the others. 

Merle paused when Philip went to guide Penny down the side of the tank, and Philip glanced up at him to see why, but then his question was void.

The hatch at the top of the tank flew open, and Martinez's voice yelled: "Annie!"

"Caesar?" said the woman who had asked for him before. "Caesar!"

She ran towards the tank, searching for a way to get up, and the Asset climbed back onto it, bending over the hatch at the top for a moment. Philip wished he could hear the exchange that went on there, but before he could ask, the Asset stood up again with Martinez half hanging off him.

The woman clutched her hands to her mouth, then reached for him. "Caesar!" Her eyes were full of tears.

The Asset very gently helped Martinez down, supporting his weight with the kind of strength that wouldn't be possible in a normal man. Philip assumed that Martinez had refused to be carried bridal-style. Saved some of his dignity at least.

When they reached the ground, the woman stepped forward and Martinez took his arm off the Asset's shoulders. He stumbled forward and she caught him in a deep hug that he returned with a relieved kind of ferocity. Philip looked away and put his feet on solid ground, standing next to Penny.

Merle dropped down beside him. "Aw, ain't that  _cute,"_  he said, sarcastically, but quiet enough that only Philip could really hear. Philip gave the faintest sign of a smirk.

He let them say their hellos and ask their questions and check everybody was alright. Then he cleared his throat and stepped forward, and everyone fell back, tailing off on their conversations.

Philip smiled, genially. "I know we're all tired, and we'd rather all be in bed tonight, but I wanted to tell you a bit about where we're going, seeing as you're coming with me."

Penny shuffled behind him and Philip felt the group's eyes draw to her, curious. He guided her out in front of him. "This is my daughter, Penny." Philip let them soak in that for a moment, then continued.

"She used to have a normal life. A school, downtown, near the park, and friends who'd invite her round to their house. Something everyone had where we lived." Philip raised his gaze and looked every one of them in the eye, one at a time. "They say that's not possible anymore. Well, I beg to differ."

He stepped forward and Penny moved back again, holding onto the leg of his pants. "We're going to build a town. We'll find somewhere suitable, near food, with running water, and we'll make it a home. We'll give these kids their lives back." He smiled, a little mischievously. "And I guess we'll make something for the adults too." People chuckled at that.

"My friend and I-" Philip gestured to the Asset, "Were about to start looking south, before your group found us. We had plans to go down this very road, searching, until we found somewhere worth settling. Now-" He held up his hands. "I know you're tired, and you're hungry; you don't even want to  _think_  of doing anything else."

He smiled a smile that spread across his face. "That's why we won't do anything until tomorrow. Give us time to eat, get some rest, and face it all fresh in the morning. What do you say?"

Gemma nodded, as did some of the others. A couple voiced their agreement.

"Good." Philip made a show of glancing up and down the freeway. "We'll find somewhere just off the freeway and camp there for the night. Keep an ongoing watch, so you'll all be safe."

"Uh, sorry- Philip? If I may-" A man had stepped forward slightly and was running his hands over a hat he held in his hands. Philip recognised him as the man who had been the first to come over to his side in the parking structure, after Annie of course.

"Yes?" prompted Philip, when it became clear that the man wasn't going to speak without permission.

The man looked up at him, his eyes big and round through a pair of rather ridiculous circular glasses he wore. He turned the hat over in his hands. "I think I might have spotted something- a house, over there -- in the woods. When we were uh, driving past."

Philip beamed at him. "Lead the way! We'll go straight there."

"A-ah-ah thank you," stammered the man, and backed up, clearly uncomfortable with the spotlight.

 

-

 

They drove down a dirt road that lead to the house in strict formation: the tank in the lead and the two cars following behind. Philip had brought the nervous man with him into the belly of the tank and had swapped out Martinez, telling him not to move around too much in the car.

Gemma and her kid were sat buckled into the tank seats and Philip had noticed her and the man exchange smiles when he entered in. He noted this and indicated the driver's seat when the man went to sit down too. "Sorry, my friend, but I need your eyes up front."

He could sense the man standing right at his back was now gripping the driver's chair like his life depended on it. The Asset's body language at Philip's side spoke only curiosity and observation towards the newcomer, but Philip had a feeling the man feared the Asset.

"What's your name?" Philip asked, as they made their slow way along the track.

"Sorry?" the man said, so Philip said a little louder: "What're you called? You already know my name."

"Oh! Uh." The man seemed to flurry behind him and Philip felt the Asset's curiosity flutter between focused attention and readiness. Eventually, a hand popped over his shoulder, and Philip could have laughed. 

"Milton. Milton Mamet." the man said, just as the tank ran over a bump and jolted them all. Milton's hand flew back to the security of Philip's seat, holding on for dear life.

Philip did chuckle then, his face relaxed as he surveyed the road ahead. "Glad to meet you, Milton," he said. "Ready for a little fun?"

He brought Milton with him in the team he charged with clearing the house. Philip lead the group, with Merle and the Asset on either side of him. They split once they entered, Merle heading to the left and the Asset the right.

"Check around back," Philip muttered to the Asset, who nodded.

Philip held his sidearm pointed up, just in case there happened to be anyone in there still alive. Milton stuck to his shadow like a nervous ghost, constantly interrupting Philip's silence with whispers, or movement, or the reflections of his glasses dancing across the ceiling.

He didn't tell Milton to be quiet. He didn't say a word. He just brought them upstairs, one creaky step at a time, and silently pushed open the door to each room.

Nothing.

"Clear," Philip called to the men downstairs, holstering his gun and returning down the steps. Milton followed close behind.

They met in the hall. "Anything to report?" Philip asked the two of them. Merle shook his head. The Asset met his eyes, then shook his head.

"Good," Philip said. "Start bringing people in, and any supplies we'll need for the night. Make them comfortable."

"Aye aye," said Merle, and left.

"You're coming with me," Philip said to the Asset, who bowed his head and fell into step immediately.

"So uh," Milton began as they started forward again. "You don't need me anymore, right?"

Philip turned to look at him.

"I uh, I have- people to get to. My bags."

"I understand," Philip said to him, and smiled. "Tell them it's safe to come in. We'll be staying here tonight."

"Yes." Milton pushed his glasses up his nose, smiled quickly, then left.

Philip began a slow circle around the first floor. He waited until Milton had left before he spoke to the Asset. "What did you see?"

"Tracks," the Asset said. "Not recent. Old."

"Leading here?"

"Yes."

Philip thought, continuing his walk. "How many?"

"Five in," the Asset said. "One out."

Philip stopped then, turning to look at him.

"No one checked the basement," the Asset said.

There was no electricity, but Philip had a torch with batteries that still worked, and as he descended into the deep dark of the basement he flashed it around, searching for whatever might lie down there.

The Asset crept down right behind him. Philip knew that he would have wanted to go in first, to clear it for him, but Philip wanted to see it for himself. He at least had his gun back out. Ready.

The door creaked shut behind them and Philip spared a glance for it, but there was no sign someone had closed it.

His torch picked up so much debris and old furniture down here that it was almost impossible to pick out anything human. Down a step he went, then another, and then a bundle of  _something_  fell over.

He shined his torch onto it and the bundle didn't move, but the figure beside it did, staggering towards him with a speed that only hunger could fuel. Philip ducked, then swung the torch up and embedded it into the side of its head, sending it sprawling against the wall. Brains leaked from its rotten hair, and it moved no more.

Down here, closer to the detritus, Philip's torch picked up more than just old furniture. He saw them all: three figures, lying on the floor with their sunken limbs bound together and their mouths gagged. They snarled as the light fell on them.

Philip felt the Asset begin to move, but held up a hand. "Wait."

Keeping the torch focused on the three biters, Philip came closer, kneeling down on the floor close to one of them. It chewed the air, the fraying rag tied around its skull barely still a part of its mouth. Philip leaned forward and notched one finger beneath the rag, pulling at it. The biter's head bobbed.

Closing his eyes, Philip leaned closer and inhaled: one long sniff. It stank of death and everything that had come before it: piss, shit, and blood. Philip wondered who had left it there.

Leaning back again, he tickled it under the chin then dropped his hand away.

"Should I kill them," the Asset asked, his voice low. He was right behind him.

Philip paused, then half-turned his head towards him. "No," he said. Then clarified: "Not this one. Kill the others."

He stood back up, giving the biters one last glance before he turned away, heading straight back up the stairs. Behind him, he heard snarls choke off into silence. All except for one, who kept growling.

He smiled as he came out of the cellar.


	7. Itch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _No things of air these antics were_   
>  _That frolicked with such glee:_   
>  _To men whose lives were held in gyves,_   
>  _And whose feet might not go free,_   
>  _Ah! wounds of Christ! they were living things,_   
>  _Most terrible to see._
> 
> \- Oscar Wilde, The Ballad Of Reading Gaol

They ate, they talked and they made merry. Philip oversaw all of it, but did little in the way of regulating. He let them all work it out, without a leader, and flowed between each sect of people introducing himself as the afternoon went on.

He had guards posted at every point of entry and they reported to the Asset so that Philip's mingling wouldn't be interrupted. Everyone had as much food and clean clothes as they could want. Philip was a generous man.

"How did you even find them?" Annie was asking Martinez.

Martinez glanced at Philip, who was perched on the arm of a sofa, and Philip chuckled. "We ran into each other," Philip said, his voice ever so slightly raised to carry across the room. "Martinez was looking for weapons, and we were looking for people. Seemed the best idea at the time to go back with him."

Martinez made an attempt at a laugh, then coughed and winced. "Yeah," he said, his eyes tight. "Like he says."

"Turns out whoever took your guns dropped them on their way out," Philip continued. "They were just sitting there in a bag for anyone to pick up."

Annie smiled and put her hand on Martinez's good knee. "Well, I'm glad you took care of him. It's not like we can just go to a hospital anymore."

Philip inclined his head, modest.

Glancing at the crack in the blinds and seeing only darkness, Philip got up and went to the kitchen unit, picking up a glass. He tapped it with a spoon as he returned. "I think it's time for a toast!"

People went quiet, looking for their drinks - the bottle of 20 year old bourbon Merle had found in a cupboard had gone around nicely. Some of them called out a "Here here!"

Philip smiled, coming to a halt in the middle of the room. He held up his glass. "To the people who find each other in hard times," he said, looking round at them. "May they have peace, security... and bourbon."

Good-natured laughs bubbled up around him. Philip let them enjoy it, and then his voice grew lower, more serious. When the room fell silent again, he raised his glass once more. "To survival," he said.

"To survival!" the room echoed, and everyone drank.

 

-

 

They slept well; some of them better than others. Philip tucked Penny up in the room no one had questioned was his: the biggest in the house. Most of the group were sleeping downstairs in the lounge. Some, like Martinez, were injured and required a real bed. Philip gave them that luxury.

He sat on the side of the master bed, stroking Penny's soft blonde hair. Her little hands were clutching the covers that she had drawn all the way up to her chin.

"You were brave today," Philip said. "Did you have fun with Ben and Gemma?"

She squirmed under the covers and nodded. "Mmhmm."

Philip tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear. "Good. It's nice to have more people around, isn't it?"

She only burrowed further under the sheets and closed her eyes, clearly wiped out. Philip bent down to kiss her forehead and stood up, getting all the way to the door before he heard a small: "Daddy?" behind him.

He turned in the doorway. "Yes, pumpkin?"

"Are you coming back?"

Philip smiled. "Soon, sweetie. You shut your eyes and I'll be back before you know it."

Reaching for the door handle, he waited in case there was anything else, but Penny was probably already asleep. "Sweet dreams," he said, softly, before he backed out and closed the door.

He passed by the Asset as he was heading out. The man was stood in the corridor next to the basement door, but Philip wasn't fooled. Passing him by, Philip strode on until he reached the front door.

There was a porch outside and it was this he wanted to reach. Pushing open the front door, Philip exited with his gun out first. He put it away once he saw someone had beat him to it: there, on one of the porch chairs, was Merle, smoking a cigarette like nothing had changed.

Merle offered it to him as Philip moved into his vision, and Philip thought for a moment, then took it, inhaling for a brief, sweet second as the smoke went through him.

"Cigarettes," Philip laughed a smokey laugh, as he sat down on the bench next to Merle. "Never thought I'd miss  _that_  at the end of the world."

Merle glanced at him. "Yo-ou had some high ex-pec-tations of that then, boss. Ain't nobody growin' tobacco anymore."

"We could," said Philip, meeting his eyes. His lip curved up. "We could."

"We damn well  _should,_ " Merle said, taking back the cig and inhaling from it.

"You clear out the biters?" Philip asked, peering around at the woods in from of them.

"'Ent many out here," Merle replied, in his wheezy voice. "All there was is down there--" He pointed to the steps of the porch with the toe of his boot. "Face-down in the muck like some rotted pack of 'coons."

Philip exhaled and leant back, rolling his shoulders as he got comfortable. He found himself watching Merle's right wrist, the missing hand an odd gap where one would ordinarily be resting on the chair. "How'd that happen?"

Merle grunted, and Philip indicated his wrist with a flick of his head.

It seemed to amuse him. Merle's lips drew back and his teeth shone down like daggers as he laughed a dry cackle-laugh. He took the cigarette out of his mouth with his left hand to tell the story and lifted his right arm up, letting his wrist catch the moonlight.

"I was cuffed to the roof. Biters wanted in," he said, and in the light Philip could see handcuff scars still trying to fade where his stump was. 

Merle ran his tongue over his teeth, then continued. "This guy Rick locked me up, no food, no water. Thought I was better off  _dead_  than in their group." He hacked, then spat on the porch floor. "Piece of horseshit took my brother and left me for biter food. But I don't die that easy."

He held up the fingers with the cigarette clutched between them. "There were biters comin' up the stairs and lookin' for ol' Merle, so I didn't have much of a choice." He grinned and made one quick sawing motion over his left arm. "So I cut the fuckin' thing off. An' one day, I'll do the same to him."

"And your brother?" Philip asked, curious.

Merle shrugged. "If he ain't run into trouble with those rookies, he'll make it. We're tough hide, me and him."

Philip nodded and let the silence fill the air, broken only by the occasional puff of Merle smoking.

"What would you say to him," Philip said, after a while. "If you could?"

"Daryl?"

"Your brother."

Merle thought for a moment, pressing his lips together. "I'd tell 'im to stop hangin' out with the nanny cop and get the fuck over here. He's a piece of shit for leavin', but he's my brother." Merle thumped his fist on his chest. "Blood."

"Mmm," Philip said, looking out at the night and listening to the crickets whirr.

"Well," he said, after a bit, "It's time I turned in. Penny'll be wondering where I am."

Merle nodded and watched him, the red dot of the cigarette blinking in the dark.

Philip smiled. "Thanks for the smoke. I'll see you in the morning."

He left the man out there alone, sitting in a swirl of fog and thinking deeper than he had been when Philip came out.

 

-

 

Closing the front door behind him and stepping softly down the hall, Philip left the cool night air behind and headed towards the stairs. Something caught his eye as he passed the basement door, though, and he backed up, staring into the darkness.

He glanced from right to left, then looked at the Asset. "What are you doing out here?" He tilted his head. "Shouldn't you be asleep? I thought Merle was on duty until twelve."

The Asset said nothing, but broke out of the statue-like stillness he had been keeping opposite the door, his eyes darting towards the floor.

Philip stood back, folding his arms as he regarded him. "Are you guarding the group from what lies down there?" He tilted his head back the other way. "Or are you guarding it from me?"

The Asset stared up at Philip - even this mortal weapon was shorter than the tall, imposing figure of a man Philip made. 

Philip glanced down the corridor once again, then reached forward, taking the Asset by the shoulder and guiding him nearer. "Come here," he said, once he didn't have to speak much louder than a murmur, and opened the basement door.

They entered quicker than before, Philip prodding the Asset ahead of him. He shut the door behind them and the little light they had above went out.

As soon as they started down the stairs, the snarls began. Philip wondered if the Asset could see better in the dark than most, as his steps were steady as he descended the stairs at Philip's touch.

Once they reached the ground, Philip pulled the torch out of his jacket pocket. He switched it on and guided it towards the biter. It was rocking on its belly as it tried to get to them.

The torch light rolled off the biter, onto the floor and a discarded hoop of rope.

"Have you ever tied someone up before?" Philip asked, stepping forward and setting the torch down on the ground, picking up the rope. He felt the Asset pause at his back. "Never?"

"Yes," the Asset said, finally, before stepping forward and holding out his hands for the rope.

"Bind his legs," Philip said. "Same way the other guy did. Hogtie style."

He passed the Asset half and sawed the rest off for himself, making a smaller section for a replacement gag.

Philip knelt down, stretching the piece of rope taut between his hands, then leaned in and eased the fabric into the biter's mouth. It wasn't easy: the thing snapped and writhed, straining to get at his flesh, but Philip kept at it, calm and slow. "Shh," he said, and the biter looked up at him.

In that second, Philip hooked the rope into its mouth, then shifted forward to get the rest around the back of its head. It tried to follow him, but Philip was too quick: he knotted the rope at the base of its skull and pulled tight, cutting into some of the sunken skin at the corners of its mouth. "There," he said, then stood back up. The biter growled angrily.

In the torchlight that lit it up, Philip could see what the Asset had made of the thing's legs. It had only taken him moments: immobilising the ankles together so that they could no longer separate. Philip smiled, then nudged him out of the way and stepped over the biter's back, standing over it.

He took the remaining rope and grabbed its left arm, but in that moment its other arm broke free, flinging back towards Philip with its rotten nails opening and closing. The Asset knelt in a flurry of movement and pinned it down, before raising the limb to where Philip was holding its left arm like a peasant bringing an offering to its god.

Philip  _Hmm_ ed, then looped the rope in a figure-eight around its wrists, binding them together until the biter would have to break its own shoulder to get them free. The Asset then held its wrists to its ankles and Philip secured those together too. There was no need to attach a separate section around the biter's neck in a true hogtie; after all, it was already dead.

He left it there, on the floor with its limbs all tied up and unable to make much more than a gurgling noise. Then he sat on the second step of the stairs and looked at it for a long time.

The Asset sat down next to him after a bit, leaving a gap between them.

"What do you think of them?" Philip asked him.

Glancing in Philip's direction, it seemed the Asset found it difficult to answer. A part of Philip's brain -- that wasn't currently engaged -- was aware that it was probably because this was not exactly a militant question.

"He is dead," the Asset answered, eventually.

Philip turned towards him, leaning his elbow on his knee. "Aren't we?"

The Asset slowly shook his head, his wide eyes all that Philip could really make out in the low light on the wall from the torch. "No," he said, simply.

Philip stayed where he was, half-turned to his left, but his eyes moved in trails over the basement floor. His hands joined together and ran over each other.

In the end, he sighed, and put one hand on each knee. He spoke quietly, almost as if to himself. "Where did you come from?" he asked.

He didn't expect an answer.

 

-

 

He brought the Asset into his room for the night, making him a bed of spare pillows and a comforter that had been on the rail. Penny woke when they came in but stretched her arms out when she saw the Asset, and Philip could have sworn he saw the tiniest ghost of a smile appear on him.

Daybreak found them rested, Philip's arm out over Penny. The Asset watched them from the floor, wrapped in a bed that was far softer than any he could remember being given before.

Philip stirred first, blinking away the sunshine from his eyes. Looking at him, you wouldn't have known he had tied a zombie to itself hours earlier. You wouldn't know he had shot three men. You wouldn't know he had walked up to Martinez only yesterday with every intention of letting him get eaten.

The Asset knew it all, but it didn't really matter. He sat cross-legged in his bed and waited for Philip to notice him, listening to the sound of the birds.

Soon, Philip rolled over and looked at the Asset with a sort of sleep-driven ease that the Asset had rarely seen on him. Philip smiled - a slow thing that spread across his face - then gently shook Penny's arm. "Wake up, sweetheart," he said, and Penny made a disparaging noise.

He laughed, then turned back and grabbed her, switching his voice into a low-pitched mockery of a monster. "Well," he growled, "Who has disturbed my slumber?"

Penny shrieked and Philip dived further under the covers, tickling her mercilessly. "What's this..." He sniffed. "It's my FAVOURITE. A beautiful little girl!"

The Asset watched them play from his cave of blankets. When Penny finally broke free and ran giggling from the bed, he caught her hand.

"Shh," he said, quietly. "Come in here."

Penny got the idea after a moment of hesitation and crawled under the blankets with him. She snuck behind his back and peered out over his shoulder -- the only window to the outside world.

Philip had seen none of this, and the Asset's face was neutral when Philip glanced around.

"Where are you hiding?" Philip growled, but when nothing spoke back, his face changed and he got out of bed. "Penny?" he said.

With a giggle of delight, Penny flew out of the nest of blankets and pointed straight at Philip. "Fooled you!" she shrieked, and Philip got his smile back again, thought it was a little more strained this time. "C'mere," he said, and picked her up, resting her in his arms. "Let's get you dressed.'

The three of the them left the room together, heading downstairs to find most of the group up already and sharing out food and bottles of water. They looked up guiltily when Philip walked in, but he gestured to the whole room. "Take it," he said. "It's yours! We're a community now."

It didn't take more than that for people to turn back to their breakfasts, and the three of them joined in. It was a weird sort of meal for sure, and no feast, but it was better than some or none at all.

Philip's hand fell heavily on the Asset's shoulder for a moment, when the Asset was perched silently on a chair with a bagel in his hands. The Asset's face turned up towards him, questioning, and Philip just smiled back at him.

Philip was talking with three people at the same time and the Asset didn't want to interrupt. So, after waiting for an instruction that never came, he slowly turned back to his food, but the memory of the weight on his shoulder felt oddly like Philip's hand was still there.

When they had shepherded everyone out into the cars and decided who would be riding in the tank, Philip gave Merle the job of organising luggage and figuring out where to fit everything inside.

Merle gave him a brief look, but left it alone and went off to his duties. Philip turned and went back into the house.

It was daytime, the Georgia sun was shining, and the beauty of the day was warming up the house, but when Philip opened the basement door and closed it behind him, the heat that was there died out and was replaced by the cool brush of the underground.

"Asset," Philip said, his voice low, and a faint, "Sir," was heard in reply.

He moved down the steps, hearing the snarls of the lone biter grow in response to the smell of his sweat; the sound of his heart. Philip inhaled and smelled some of the same odours in return, but the biter's blood was black and it smelled like death.

"Asset," Philip repeated when he reached the ground, moving along the wall to his left with his arm outstretched, feeling for the man.

He knew that the Asset would be waiting for an order to kill it - to put it out of its misery. Philip had known ever since they discovered them that the Asset would not leave this house without dispatching them, but now, now this one - this one was different. Personal. Philip had made it different.

"Is it still tied," Philip asked, his tongue thick. His fingertips touched clothing.

"Yes," the Asset replied, and from the sound of his voice Philip knew they were stood next to each other.

"Do you want to kill it?" Philip asked.

There was a pause, then the Asset said: "Yes."

"Even though it can't escape?"

"Yes."

Philip turned his head towards him, even though he could see almost nothing in the dark. "Do you want to kill me?" he asked.

A much longer pause this time, then the Asset responded with a soft  _"Sir."_

"Do you?" Philip asked, shuffling closer. The biter snarled in the background. Philip could almost feel its claws grasping at him from there, pulling at his shirt, drawing him in to be eaten.

"No," the Asset said, in a small voice, then shook a little in surprise as Philip reached in, circling his arms around the Asset's waist from behind until they were flush together.

Philip rested his chin down on the Asset's shoulder, feeling his heartbeat through the cords of his neck. He closed his eyes, his voice dropping to a murmur.  _"Do you?"_

The biter snapped and snarled ever louder. Philip could hear it squirming on the floor down there, knocking at a piece of debris. He clutched the Asset to him, his breathing slow, his hands as hot as the sun.

When the Asset's breath hitched and he very tentatively put one hand on Philip's arm, all of Philip's air drove out of him at once. He backed them up a single step until his own back was against the wall, then pressed the Asset into him and ground his hips against the Asset's ass.

He couldn't help the softest of groans, filtered out through gritted teeth into the Asset's shoulder. A hot sweat pricked at his extremities, sending heat shooting through the pores of his skin. Philip licked his lips - dry - then bent his head and thrust again, a slow, murderously-longing push against the Asset, who stayed still and let him do it.

"What would you do-" Philip said, after a moment. "If I asked you to?"

There was a pause, then the Asset replied: "I will do anything you ask."

Philip felt his heart skip a few beats, then tucked his teeth over his lower lip and let go of the Asset to steady himself. In that same low, slightly hoarse voice, he ordered: "Bring me that biter."

The Asset left him immediately, disappearing into the dark. When Philip blinked, he was back, dragging with him the hogtied biter. Without much preamble, Philip reached down and unbuckled his belt, shoving down his pants and his underwear to free his erection. He pumped it a few times with his hand, feeling the nearness of the Asset and responding to it. His nerves were almost screaming.

Finding the top of the biter's head with his free hand, Philip pushed it down until the Asset understood and lowered it to the floor, kneeling down with it. Philip's hand then searched until it was engulfed in the Asset's hair, running his fingers through and through it.

"Take out the rag," he said.

He felt movement, then the Asset stilled again and now the biter's snarls were more audible. More pronounced. Philip could even hear its teeth clicking together in the decaying wash of its mouth.

His fingers drew through the Asset's hair, back and forth, over and around. Then they stilled, gripping tight, so that the Asset would know to listen.

"Hold its mouth open," Philip said, and felt a thrill go right through him.

"Sir," protested the Asset, very quietly, but: "Do it," said Philip.

Philip waited until the Asset stilled again and told him it was ready, then felt for the biter's face. There it was: the sunken sockets of the eyes, the black hole where there used to be a nose, and the cavern of its mouth, ringed with rotten teeth. Philip ran his fingertips over those and found the Asset's hands on each row of teeth, prizing it open.

The thought only excited him more. Lining his erection up with the entrance, Philip felt the head of his cock press against the Asset's fingers, and couldn't help but tease it back and forth just for the chance to rub against them.

He reached for the Asset's hair with his spare hand again, then clutched down as he drove in, straight into the mouth of the thing.

 

-

 

It was wet - wet and warm - was the first thing he noticed, and the inner flesh of its cheeks slid along the length of Philip's cock as he entered. He moaned, incapable, then drew out and thrust in again, feeling the end of his cock touch the back of the biter's throat.

He only wished he could see its face. The enraged growls it made around the Asset's hands were almost as good, though, and Philip took great pleasure in drowning them as he thrust in again, then again, wallowing in the soft, dangerous draw of it all.

Gripping the Asset's hair with his left hand, Philip moved his right hand until it found the thin strands of hair that were all that remained on the biter's head, then gripped those too. He used it to brace himself, so that he could thrust faster -- and deeper.

The thing was so wet, so slippery, and when Philip slid out one time he caught the smell of it and realised it must be blood. He shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut, the hand in the Asset's hair clutching and unclutching like he couldn't decide what he wanted more.

Still, the Asset he could save. This, though: this was a rare occurrence. An opportunity. 

There was only one moment when the danger spiked. Philip's grip on the back of the dead thing's head as he moved it back and forth was so great that it broke off one of the biter's teeth. It embedded itself in the Asset's hand, who leaned forward and bit it off, spitting it out onto the floor. Philip wanted to congratulate him.

Instead, he leaned down and grabbed the Asset by the chin, forcing his head up and enclosing his mouth with his own. Philip shoved his tongue into the Asset's mouth and felt the Asset's own tongue there, moving but not as furious as Philip's was. He bit the Asset's lip and tasted blood, and felt himself grow close to the edge.

It was when Philip shut his eyes and thought of the biter as the Asset's mouth that he shook all over. His cock jumped and the Asset shoved the biter back by its own teeth, leaning up into Philip's mouth and taking Philip's cock in his hands.

Philip blinked in surprise and after only a few strokes he came, shooting all up the Asset's front in the small space between them. When he had finished, he pulled the Asset to him and wrapped his arms around the man's waist, diving into his mouth and fighting with him like he had every intention of going again.

They pulled apart and breathed hard for a moment. It was only then that Philip realised he could no longer hear snarls.

"You killed it," he said, and felt rather than saw the Asset's sharp eyes on him.

Philip chuckled, then lurched forward and grabbed the Asset by the neck. Bringing him around, Philip shoved him against the wall and came in close.

He took hold of the Asset's lips with his teeth and kissed him again, running his hands up and down the Asset's body. The insistent tent in the Asset's combat trousers pressed hard against Philip's hand, who grinned against the Asset's lips and squeezed it, once.

Letting go, he put both hands on the Asset's shoulders and held him there. He leaned in and trailed his nose up the side of the Asset's neck, until he reached his jaw.

_"Don't disobey me,"_ he murmured, squeezing his thumbs into the swell of the Asset's neck, where beneath the thin skin lay his trachea.

The Asset's breath caught and he nodded. Philip felt the Asset's cock throb against his thigh.

"Good," he said, then eased back and ran his fingers like a comb through his own hair. He left the Asset standing there against the wall and turned for the stairs. "Come on," he said, darkly, as he ascended them. "We have a town to catch."

The Asset followed as Philip stepped out of the basement, letting the door swing back for the Asset to shut. He marched towards the waiting cars, adjusting his belt while they were still within the confines of the house.

"Ready?" he called out, when they exited the house.

"And waitin'!" Merle yelled back, slamming his hand on the hood of a car. Philip grinned. 

"Good!" he said, then clapped his hands together. "Let's get rolling!"


	8. Lull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _So with curious eyes and sick surmise_   
>  _We watched him day by day,_   
>  _And wondered if each one of us_   
>  _Would end the self-same way,_   
>  _For none can tell to what red Hell_   
>  _His sightless soul may stray._
> 
> \- Oscar Wilde, The Ballad Of Reading Gaol

They got in the tank, all four of them: Philip, Penny, the Asset and Merle. Philip nodded to Merle as they dropped in. "You drive."

Merle's eyebrows drew together and he held up his stump of a wrist. "You sure?"

"I haven't forgotten," Philip said, with a smile that grazed over his teeth, and Merle shrugged, climbing almost eagerly into the driver's seat.

Philip sat down on the seats in the belly of the tank next to Penny. He buckled her in absentmindedly, going over the motions in a way that seemed too familiar for a world that was this broken. Pull on strap, reel it out, feel for the connecter, plug it in.

He did the same for himself, then raised his eyes to find the Asset.

The Asset was on the other side of the tank, looking slightly disheveled. His hair was messier than usual and his hands were dirty, streaked with black and red. As Philip's gaze wandered over the Asset's hands, they withdrew from his view, as if the Asset had only just noticed how they looked. Glancing up, Philip was met with a stare.

He settled back into the seat and closed his eyes, exhaling in a long, slow motion. His heart thudded irregularly: two steady beats, then a flutter of four, then another slow three, then beat-beat-beat. Philip opened his eyes a crack and watched the Asset, knowing he would be able to hear it, wondering what he made of it.

The tank jerked to a stop and Merle swore at the controls.

"Take a left!" Philip called to him. "We're goin' down '85."

Merle spooled up the tank and turned it onto the freeway, leading the two cars and a pickup truck they had found at the house. 

"How much gas you got in this thing?" Merle yelled to him.

Philip only settled down into his seat, letting his eyes slip shut and folding his hands over his knee. "Enough," he said, and sank into a sort of almost-sleep. 

He wasn't asleep-asleep, not really. When Philip was worn down to the bone, or just needed to find something important, he sank down here. It was a place where he could be alone, free from other distractions. A chance to really bite his teeth into whatever was bothering him.

It was not an irritating place -- far from it. Here, he could brush aside thoughts like they were pages in a catalogue, searching for the important ones. This time, he followed his psyche down to a pool that drew him all the way in with the current.

It was like living in a dream: the tank was there -- the smell of the engine, the cold metal, the noise -- he was there -- too-warm, tired body amid the human sounds of all the others, but there was one body in particular that his mind searched for. Like he was reaching across the gap in real life, Philip reached over and touched the soundlightsmell of the Asset.

In this place between awake and asleep, Philip could prod and poke at him, could flick through his catalogue of notes and thoughts on the Asset, could entertain possibilities -- or he could do what he had to do and plan their journey.

All of that responsibility seemed so far away just now, though, and Philip drank from his own pool of hell instead, surrounding himself with the memory of the basement and the touch of the Asset until he really did slip deeper, falling into sleep.

He woke an unknown time later, to a hand on his shoulder and a voice in his ear. Philip opened his eyes in sharp irritation and saw nobody, then glanced and found that the hand was Penny’s and the voice he had heard was Merle’s, carrying loud within the confines of the tank.

Philip’s shirt was soaked in sweat and beads of water had formed on Penny’s forehead. It was turning into an oven in here.

“What?” he said, and Merle looked back. “Problem, boss.”

Philip unbuckled his belt and moved up front, leaning down to see out through the driver’s periscope.

Cars blocked the freeway on both sides; abandoned in the rush of people trying to escape Atlanta, they had spilled over onto the side Philip’s crew had been using to drive down on. “Can’t you go round them?” Philip said, feeling water drip down the hollow of his back as he stood there.

Merle shrugged, then pushed the tank forward, ploughing into the first layer of cars. The chassis bent and crushed beneath them with a shriek of metal, sending up smoke and tiny bits of glass. There were more ahead, but Merle managed to at least clear something of a path for the cars behind them.

“There,” Philip said, running his tongue over the cut he’d made in his lip the day before. “That’ll do her.”

He was used to the heat that came in the summer, but he’d become soft and used to the ease of air conditioning. Without it, and in a belly made of metal, the tank was growing hard to bear.

Wiping a hand over his forehead, Philip picked up a bottle of water on his way back and handed it to Penny. “Drink up,” he said, then swung himself onto the ladder leading up into the turret, breaking open the hatch at the top.

It was instant relief. The breeze from the movement of the tank ran through his hair, drying out the ends. He blinked moisture from his eyelashes and almost burned his hand on the roof of the tank, but it didn’t matter, he was out.

Air rushed into the tank around him and he felt the pressure within it somewhat ease. He heard Penny uncap the bottle and drink. All in all, with the group he had amassed around them and their supplies, things were looking better than ever.

He turned and held up a hand to the car following closest behind them. The driver waved back, and Philip smiled despite himself, turning back to put his face in the wind.

When his vision cleared and the wetness lifted from his lashes, he saw them.

Stretching across the entire freeway and about half a mile long, the dead were walking straight towards the living.

Philip stared at them, slightly unable to believe them, but when the tank ran over another car and let out an enormous screech, he ducked back in. “HOLD!”

Merle stopped the tank and the water bottle flew out of Penny’s hands. She coughed and coughed, caught halfway through drinking, and the Asset immediately drew over to her, looking up at Philip as he held her steady.

Philip dropped down into the belly and the tank lurched forward, almost sending him off his feet. He glanced at Merle, who had both of his hands off the wheel, then realised.

“Stay here,” he said to them all, then climbed back out of the hatch.

The car furthest back had had enough time to stop, but the middle had swung into a cage of four other abandoned vehicles in an effort to avoid the first car. The one currently crumpled at the back of the tank.

“Shit!” Philip said, then grabbed a gun and climbed out, flinching as his hands touched the burning roof. “You alright?”

“Yes,” someone said - Milton, Philip realised, as he crossed the roof towards them. “I believe so. Just stranded.”

“We can’t be,” Philip said, as he reached their side and swung down to the ground, holding the gun pointing up. He gestured behind himself. “There’s biters backed up half a mile down there. Blocking the entire freeway. We have to go back.”

Milton visibly paled and the four passengers looked at each other, uncertain of what to do.

“Find another car!” Philip bellowed, and they jumped, then scattered towards the abandoned vehicles.

He strode over to the middle car that had only a busted headlight where it had glanced off the first. Gemma was driving. “Can you get out?” Philip said, looking at the debris surrounding them.

“’Think so,” Gemma said, one hand on the wheel and the other held tightly by the kid in the passenger seat. “Give me a sec.”

A scream split the air and Philip turned immediately, searching for the source. He didn’t have to look very far.

People from the crashed car were standing, frozen in place, as one of their group shrieked in terror. A dead soccer mom in a car, her shirt proclaiming her a proud supporter of VARSITY BOYS, had a grip on the woman’s hand and was pulling her in. Her jaws snapped, her shirt billowing out from her sunken body; time seemed to slow as she sank her teeth into the woman’s face.

The scream grew garbled and Philip caught a flash of white from the hole in the woman’s face. A tooth, he thought, and strode through the onlookers, pulling the knife from his belt and sinking it into the biter’s skull in one smooth motion.

It went limp immediately, but the woman keep on screaming. Philip glanced nervously towards the tank and the growing murmur beyond it.

No one stepped forward to claim her; that surprised him. There was no call of the woman’s name, no shout of NO, not even someone beside her as she dropped to the ground and began to drown, choking great gouts of red onto the side of the car as she seized.

They only watched as she slowly slipped from life, and then everyone began to move again. “Watch where you step!” Philip yelled above them. “Keep sharp, I don’t want to lose any more of you today!”

The car right at the back roared backwards, clearing the way for the rest of them to turn around. Gemma threw her car into reverse and screeched it backwards in a curve, carving a long scratch into the driver door. It worked, though, and Philip’s eyes left her to go back to the carless group left on the road with him.

“Found any yet?” he called, and heard a chorus of No’s. 

His tongue worked against the back of his teeth as he turned towards the tank, heading up to the side of it. He banged his fist twice on the metal. “Merle!”

He was going to say something like  _get ready to get the fuck out of here,_  but his order was cut short by a snarl at his feet. Philip glanced down, seeing the face of someone who had tried to get out in the maze of cars weeks back, when they were all leaving. The corner of his mouth hooked upward, like a hinge, but he had no time for that now.

He put his boot on its forehead and pushed his weight onto it. The biter snarled no more.

Merle poked his head out of the hatch. “WHAT?”

Philip looked at him. His tongue had fallen out of the canine he had been resting it against and now it lay in the bay of his mouth. He breathed over it - hot air to match Georgia - and his eyelids were lowered.

Someone exclaimed and his gaze was drawn sideways to the people rushing about, then it drew back to Merle, waiting up there, like he knew the decision Philip was trying to make.

“They’ll only slow us-” A hand dropped onto Philip’s shoulder and he broke off, turning to find one of the group there.

“We found one,” the woman said. “It starts. Just.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Philip said, with a smile, and just like that his need for a decision was gone.

Milton, the woman, and the other kid loaded up in the car, kicking it into drive and forcing a way out through the other cars. Philip threw up a hand and climbed up the side of the tank, coming to a rest on top.

“Know your enemy,” he said, when Merle hesitated, so Merle left him there and went back it to dig there way out.

Philip glanced back. Three cars were out. “Clear!” he yelled into the tank interior. Then, he set his sights on the sea of biters and the hinge of his mouth slowly began to creak open.

They were so close.  _So_  close. If Philip had wanted to he could have leaned down and touched them, their hands up-stretched towards him like he was some sort of god.

It made him laugh. So close, and yet they hadn’t even touched them. 

Merle, inside, glanced up uneasily at the laugher on the roof, and drove carefully, but Philip didn’t seem to mind the rotten army following after them. In fact, it seemed to only make him happier.

“You  _cowards!”_  he yelled at the biters. He stamped his foot on the tank and spat off it, hitting the dust on the road behind them. He wished the dead were still close enough for him to hit them.

 

-

 

They came off at exit 41 to Moreland, and Philip laughed at that, even as the eyes of his followers drew nervously toward the route they were taking. The road curved down to the right, running diagonal away from the freeway, although it took a while to break away from it.

They were worried that the dead wouldn’t stay on the road and would cut them off, Philip knew, but he did not care.

His only focus was thus: straight ahead. His eyes scanned the road for debris, the verge for signs, the woods for people. He watched above the treetops for any sign of buildings.

The people were afraid; they were frightened by the hoards. Philip did not have the same luxury, or inclination. His job was not to run from the wolves, nor kill them - his job was to lead his flock to home.

There were signs to a myriad of suburban towns along the road. Philip glanced down the turn-offs as they passed, searching for something different. Something to fit all the checkmarks in his head.

They came to Greenville, a place covered in dry grass and empty. The tank drove slowly through the middle of town, passing a courthouse with a washed-out banner outside and a methodist church whose sign was falling apart.

“Be able to scavenge this place, boss,” came Merle’s voice from inside, and Philip nodded. He glanced once more at the courthouse, then crouched down and banged against the tank roof twice.

It slowed, then halted at a crossroads.

“Take a left,” Philip said. “We’ll head to the Flint River, stock up on water.”

There was a pause, then: “Arright,” and the tank began to turn.

They had to drive through another town to reach the river. It had wide roads, big enough for the tank to drive comfortably through, and the place looked recently abandoned. Like some sense of hope had kept on here for while, until that had left too.

Philip took everything in as they drove: the town centre full of houses, the roads with tall buildings on either side, the way everyone seemed to calm down as they passed through it. And sure, they flattened a biter or too on the way, but that was normal now.

When they stopped at the riverside, Philip hopped off the tank. It was quiet here. Away from the city, everywhere seemed quiet.

“Did you see that town we passed two miles back?” he said, once Merle had come out. They were a little ways apart from the rest of them, everyone getting the chance to fill up on water and stretch their legs.

“Yeah,” Merle said. “So?”

Philip glanced out over the water and set one hand on his hip. “It has enough space for this many, and more - the boundaries can be fortified - there’s fresh water.” He looked at Merle. “Be a good place to  _start_ , anyway.”

Merle looked at him for a long time, then rumbled a  _hmm_  in his throat. 

Philip took a swig from the water bottle in his hand, then noticed him still looking. “You don’t think it’s far enough,” he uttered.

“Nah,” said Merle, turning away. “This kinda place where I grew up. Nothin’ closer to home.”

He seemed unable to stay totally still, a behaviour that Philip had picked up on over the time they had spent around each other. It tended to increase in moments of anxiety or stress.

“Then why?” Philip asked.

Merle avoided his gaze a moment more, then met it, with a bare-toothed grin. “Whole town’s fulla ghosts. We gotta fuckin piss on it; make it ours.” 

He seemed to have something else to say, but it never left his mouth. Instead, Merle broke away, remarking something along the lines of intending to start that right now.

Philip thought for a while, standing there beside the river, and eventually he turned, intending to find the group, but almost ran into one of them instead.

“Philip! Sorry, sorry-” Milton adjusted his glasses and backed away, holding his hands up appeasingly. 

Philip smiled gamely and set his hand on Milton’s shoulder, steering him back towards the group. “Walk with me,” he said, and Milton spluttered with the need to say what he had to say, but Philip’s direction was clear.

“I uh,” Milton began, as they headed back to the gathering of cars. “There is- something that we wish to discuss.”

Philip turned to him at that, halting their pace. His hand didn’t drop from Milton’s shoulder, but drew him in in a confiding circle of sorts.

“Well?” he prompted, when Milton didn’t continue.

“The others and I,” Milton said, one hand gesturing to the group, then to his chest. “Were thinking about the town you’ve been... proposing.”

Philip nodded, giving Milton an “Mmm” that he didn’t really need.

It took the man a moment to get up the courage, but at last he let out a puff of air and spoke the rest all at once. “We want you to consider one of the towns out here.” He held up his hand, as if warding off fanciful options. “Far- far enough away from the road - and the city.”  _To avoid the biters._

Milton drew both of his hands together in something reminiscence of a prayer, then, and leaned closer in. “But understand - these people have barely ever left Atlanta. They want stability. Normalcy. A sweet town in the country.”

His eyes met Philip’s. 

He didn’t ask Philip to turn around, or to consider one particular place, even though both of them knew which one everyone would prefer. Milton stayed away from more than putting the idea out there, but there was some mastery to that; to knowing when to stop and keep one’s ideas close.

Philip  _hrmphed_ , and clapped Milton on the back, who jumped. “You’re cleverer than you look,” he said, louder than Milton had been. He felt eyes on them both as he steered them back towards the group, and only some of them saw past the simple remark.

“Your good friend Milton has brought it to my attention that there is a town worth staying in, if we have the manpower to clear it.” Philip began, gazing around at the gathered people. “It’s a sizeable task. We would need days, weeks, to build fortifications, set up a watch on the walls.”

“Walls?” asked someone.

That amused Philip a little. The corner of his mouth hooked up just so.

“Yes. Walls. We know that the biters can crawl, walk, and stagger almost anywhere. But if we block them out and cut them down before they reach us-” Philip spread his arms. “Safety. You keep the dead out to help the living stay alive.”

“Now, as for where, we’ve already passed through a few,” Philip continued, humouring a few of the chuckles that came from this. “But I think we all know where we’d rather live. A short walk from running water; practically untouched; it’s waiting for its next group-a-tenants.”

He glanced up the road, just visible at the top of the dirt track they had followed down to the river. Up there was a sign, pointing back towards the town.

“If summa you ain’t never seen any trees, take a good long look!” Philip said, gesturing at the scenery that surrounded them. “We’re going to Woodbury!”


	9. Harm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And twice a day he smoked his pipe,_   
>  _And drank his quart of beer:_   
>  _His soul was resolute, and held_   
>  _No hiding-place for fear;_   
>  _He often said that he was glad_   
>  _The hangman’s hands were near._
> 
> \- Oscar Wilde, The Ballad Of Reading Gaol

They built, they built and built. People no better than a rag-tag group of beggars brought scaffolding in the form of cars and walls in the form of sheet metal. They broke houses down to wall themselves in; they built houses up to keep them safe from within.

Philip walked among the people as they worked. He helped them - directing advice to the builders, lending a hand when his was needed, even fetching water and food for those hard at work.

They built for six days, and on the seventh, they rested.

It took much longer for gardens to sprout and water conservation to work. Philip was sat in the house he had dubbed his own, staring at a large piece of paper and trying to decide whether it was worth the manpower to create a channel from the river.

There was a knock at his door; that was new. Usually he was out helping those below, but they had a good system going and he wasn’t going to interfere where his hands weren’t needed.

It was newer still in this society. Where it was a luxury to have neighbours.

“Come in,” Philip called, and leaned back in his chair.

Merle entered. Merle was doing well these days. He had a unit, if it could be called a unit, under his command. He had proved his loyalty on the road and he was proving it as a leader.

Philip didn’t think he would ever make General. Nor a very popular figurehead. But he was a man of arms who knew men, which made him useful to Philip.  _He_ needed more than just updates on how the town was coming.

“Any news?” Philip asked, twirling his pen in his hand as he spoke.

Merle shut the door behind him. “Not yet. Lotta people dead out there. Don’t think we’re gonna find any  _live_  ones soon.”

Philip’s attention went back to his paper. “Well, when you do, let me know,” he said.

Merle didn’t leave.

After a pause, Philip’s gaze flickered back to him.

“Martinez is gonna be walkin’ soon,” Merle said, almost like it wasn’t what he wanted to say.

Philip watched him for a moment, then answered: “I know.” He tipped the pen over and over until its end touched still on the arm of the chair. “When he’s able, he’ll join you in commanding the men. Until then,” he said, “Just you.”

Merle nodded, then turned and opened the door, stepping out and closing it behind him.

Philip turned back to the plans. It was early days, sure, but the quicker they made this place a sanctuary the quicker its inhabitants would believe it. There had been a couple close calls, but no deaths so far, and Philip was interested in keeping it that way.

There were fourteen of them in total. Philip’s family made three, the men were four, the women five, the children two. They were a lot of able bodies down, but these were still able to do the work. 

Penny even had her own room again; a whole wing of the house, just to herself.

 

-

 

He woke in the middle of the night, hot and unsettled. There was little movement on the streets - Philip had installed a curfew. There was only the occasional movement on the walls and the barricades by those stood watching up there.

It made the people feel  _safe._  It made Philip, it made him—

He closed the curtain and put on his coat and shoes, shutting the door quietly behind him as he headed down to ground level. He peered out of the entryway: nothing but the flicker of burning torches, and, if he listened closely, the faint chatter of some few people talking together.

It was nice. It was his. It was safe.

He stepped out from the house and turned to look at it, able to see his drawn curtain from here. Penny’s window was on the other side. Penny - there was little she could want for here. She had other children to play with, even if she was shy, like he had been at that age. She had food and water, protection, guidance, walls.

She had everything. Or, almost everything.

Why was it then, that Philip spent less time with her now than when they had lived together in Atlanta?

He stared at the house. The white brick walls. The cobblestone floors. The road, untouched beneath his feet.

There was something about Woodbury that altered him. It was an unusual place, like a cheap piece of land that needed fixing up. It needed a lot of work, for sure, but Philip wasn’t adverse to work and neither were the rest of Woodbury’s inhabitants.

Maybe it was just the lack of time. The decreased risk of death. Something to do with the ease they had here, against all odds. It was making him - not soft, or slow, but conventional. Acceptable. Something was slowly drawing the wine out of him.

There was not much to see by the flickering light of Woodbury’s streets, and Philip avoided going to the walls. He wasn’t out here to speak to anybody; the only discussion he needed was with himself.

He kicked a piece of building rock as he rounded a corner and it bounced into a storm drain, clattering down and down the gap until it fell still. 

_eEE!_

Philip paused, torn out of his thoughts by the sound. It was not one he expected from a rockfall. He stopped in the street and tilted his head to hear better. Maybe a rat?

_ee ee eeE._

Curious, and not quite sure if he was hearing right, Philip moved back towards the drain and listened, crouching down on the ground.

The bubbling squeaks continued, some louder than others. They seemed to set each other off, as if the rock had woken them up and now they were talking.

Intrigued by this discovery, Philip felt for the gaps in the grate, curling his fingers around the bars. He lifted it - heavier than expected - then deposited it on the sidewalk behind it.

The cries intensified at the noise and Philip peered into the darkness. He reached into his pocket and took out a small flashlight, turning it on and sweeping its beam across the drain below.

He saw them then: multiple writhing creatures, squeaking and reacting to his light. They weren’t far down. 

With the flashlight between his teeth, he went in, treading very carefully to avoid standing on any of the animals. He leaned down and felt for whiskers, fur, teeth, finding instead a series of bellies and cold noses.

He scooped one up and held it - struggling, afraid - in his hand. Taking the flashlight out of his mouth, he focused it on the thing. 

It was a puppy. Young, maybe not even old enough to leave its mother. Philip wondered how long it had been trapped down there, how long they had all been trapped, crying and hungry beneath Woodbury’s streets.

“Where’s your mother?” he crooned, switching the flashlight off and stroking his thumb over the pup’s head. He set it down on the road and took off his coat, laying it out on the ground for the creature to lie on. Philip spared it one more look, before he went back into the hole for the rest of them.

There were eight in all. One - the ninth - wasn’t moving. It lay far away from the others, as if someone - the mother? - had moved it out. Or maybe Philip was only guessing.

He put them all in his coat, then drew the ends together to make a sort of sack. Heading home with his catch, he paused at the end of the road and changed direction, knocking at the door of a different house instead.

The woman who came to the door looked different by night. Philip had expected her to wake up - they all tended to be light sleepers these days.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” Philip said, quietly, as she opened the door, and she gave him a smile that seemed to ask why he was apologising.

She opened the door further and stepped back, so Philip came in, carrying the sack of puppies with him.

He set them down in the living room, opening the coat and standing back for her to look. “I found them in a storm drain,” he said, watching them; watching her. “I was going to take them home, but then I remembered you used to be a farmhand.”

Gemma dropped to her knees and held out her hands, reaching for their soft bodies. They weren’t sure - even Philip could see that. Could be this was all the contact they’d had with human beings.

“Are they old enough to survive without their mother?” Philip said.

Gemma glanced at him. “Wasn’t she there?”

“I didn’t see her.”

She leaned forward and picked one up, ignoring its futile struggles against her hand. “I know, I know, lil one. You’re alright.” She held it in her lap and opened its mouth, looking at its teeth and touching its nose. The other puppies came closer, as if sensing the distress of their littermate.

“I’d say they’re about four weeks old. Skinny-” She felt its stomach, a sly smile stealing across her face. “Probably getting bossed around by their mother if they’re still trying to feed from her.”

“What do we feed them?” Philip asked, still stood high above them.

Gemma turned to look at him like she had forgotten he was there. “Dog food,” she said, automatically, then laughed. “Raw meat if we have to. Dogs did it before, right? No reason they can’t go back.”

“I’ll have someone check the supply,” Philip said, nodding, and something in Gemma’s expression changed.

She looked down at the puppies crawling over the carpet, then back to him. “I think you should keep them,” she said, eventually. “This ain’t no place for babies.”

Philip’s face must have shown something, because she continued.

“I know you’re busy, but I- I think it’s nice, raisin’ dogs. Really brings a family together, it does.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “And when they’re old enough, they can go to the very best homes in Woodbury.”

Standing there, still smelling the must of the storm drain, Philip’s gaze strayed from Gemma’s eyes to the mass of bodies, wriggling as if in sequence: one moves, breaks two to movement, one settles.

They were a whole mix of patterns and colours, stuff that Philip could barely see in this light. And Gemma was right about something: they were tiny. Vulnerable. They needed somewhere safe, just like the residents. Just like Penny.

He saw her face then, and realised it was the first time he’d pictured it since Atlanta, back when every excursion might ensure he’d never see her again. Back when he knew she’d be awake and waiting for him to come back home.

It was that image that made him say yes.

“They need some kind of whelpin’ box - somewhere safe they can sleep and pee, but can’t get out of. Make the peein’ area somewhere separate - you don’t want them learning to go in their bed.”

“I will,” Philip said, kneeling down to gather them up.

Gemma helped, setting the pups down on the coat for Philip to carry back. “This sure is travelling in style,” she said, laughing breathlessly as he rose, the bag of puppies in his arms.

Philip cracked the first genuine smile he’d had all day. “It sure is,” he said, touching his index and middle finger to his forehead. “It sure is.”

“Be safe,” she said as she let him out, and he carried his loot all the way back home.

“Asset,” he said, as he walked in the door, and the man immediately materialised in front of him. “Find me some newspaper and some kind of dog bed - rug, blanket, anything’ll do.”

The Asset disappeared again with a short “Sir,” and Philip brought the sack into the back room. There wasn’t much in here yet, just a few old fishtanks along the wall that the previous owner must have kept  _his_  pets in, making the room a perfect environment for the litter of puppies. It was small enough to house them temporarily, and the bed would help, as well as the newspaper.

He set the coat down and the Asset returned. 

“Spread the newspapers across the floor,” Philip said. “Everywhere.”

The Asset began his task and Philip took what was passing for a dog bed: a large cushion from the seat of the couch, wrapped in a blanket. He set it on the growing sea of newspapers and opened the coat, letting the puppies out.

They had been audible within the confines of their travelling carrier, but not as loud as they were now, squeaking and bubbling and pulling themselves across the floor like they were, well… babies.

Philip felt the Asset pause, then continue to spread the newspapers until the floor was covered. Then the Asset stood where he had finished and watched from there, watching Philip - he knew - too.

“They’re dogs,” Philip said. “Young dogs. Only puppies.” He knelt down and they squirmed closer, shying away from his hands and smelling him. “About four weeks old.”

“They should be with their mother,” the Asset said, in his musical voice.

Philip looked at him. He didn’t know how the Asset almost always managed to surprise him with the things he said.

“She was gone when I found them,” he said, turning back to the pups. “They were lost down a storm drain. Would’ve starved if I hadn’t taken ‘em.”

The Asset nodded: one slow, up-and-down motion. Then he took one step closer and crouched down on the floor, looking torn between racing out of the door and yearning to be closer to the pups.

“We’re going to be taking care of them,” Philip said, not quite sure why he was sharing. “Until they’re old enough to leave. Then, we can find homes for them within the group.”

There was one that seemed braver than its littermates, or maybe just liked wandering. It staggered closer to the Asset, whose eyes widened a touch at the edges.

“Let him say hello,” Philip said, leaning his weight against the floor.

The puppy stumbled up to the Asset’s shoes, sniffing. It was a muddy brown colour with white socks, very different from the silver metal that protruded from the Asset’s black sleeve.

It peeped, then fell forward into the Asset’s shoe. They seemed to have better control over their front legs than the back ones.

The Asset’s hand rushed to catch it as it fell. When it only lay on the floor where it had flopped, he scooted back and knelt down, leaning close to the puppy. Philip watched them both as the pup began to wriggle again, clearly unharmed by its tiny blunder, and the Asset exhaled.

“You could always sleep in here, if you wanted to,” Philip said.

There was some pause, like the Asset wanted to look up, but didn’t. Then, he seemed to relax and his gaze lifted. They looked at each other for a moment over the sounds of the puppies finding their way around. Philip’s hand on the ground started buzzing with pins and needles.

Philip wanted to - he really wanted to - but in that moment he didn’t give the Asset another option.

He didn’t have to. They were back in the house, standing on the basement stairs and waiting for what would happen. It had crushed itself into a tiny ball while Philip had brought them all here, while he had been playing god setting up the town. Buried in paperwork; tasked with command.

The Asset might as well have melted into the wallpaper, for all the attention Philip had given him.

“How long have you been living at this house?” Philip said, absent-mindedly stroking a puppy.

“Three weeks, sir,” the Asset said. “Since our arrival.”

“Where’ve you been staying?”

The Asset blinked. “Depends, sir. Sometimes in here. Sometimes another room.”

Philip knew the reason for his defensiveness. The Asset was exceptionally good at clearing up after himself. Philip had noticed it back in Atlanta. Even in the low state he had been, Philip had rarely found any sign that the Asset had been eating or visiting any room other than the first.

He must not want to drop that habit.

“You’ve kept an eye on Penny.”

“Yes.”

Philip adjusted his position on the floor, removing his hand from the puppy. “Stay in here tonight,” he said, in a suggestion that was really an order, and the Asset looked at him steadily and nodded.

He went to check on their supply of found food himself, the guards letting him by without a word. There were bags and bags in the room, mostly full of tins, where he hoped he might strike lucky.

It was buried all the way down beneath four cans of peas: half an hour later, and sweating with the effort of going through them all, Philip found what he was looking for. It didn’t say Puppy, or even Adult. Some brand of wet dog food stamped with the label SENIOR on the label.

It would have to do. He bent his knees and stood up, leaving the building and returning to his house.

He opened the door to the dogs very carefully, making sure that none of them had the opportunity to slip out. 

He shouldn’t have worried. There, in the centre of the room, on what passed for a dog bed, were all eight puppies. They stirred as he came in and so did the Asset, lying curled around the outside of the bed so that his body wouldn’t take up any of their space.

Philip’s throat clicked, and he held up the can. 

The Asset reached out and Philip handed it over, watching as the Asset popped open the lid with the metal tab on top. He put his flesh hand in, grasping pieces of the food and setting them down on the newspapered floor. The puppies sniffed his wet hand, then started up their noises and pulled themselves towards the scent of food.

He had put about half the can on the ground when he set the container aside, mushing the food up until there were no chunks to chew. A puppy reached the dog chow and nosed into it, confused.

One by one, the Asset took little bits of the food and fed them to each puppy on the end of his fingers. They wanted to suck, Philip saw, as he knelt down to watch, but their mother was gone and they couldn’t drink their meals anymore. They had to understand this new food, and understand it they did, one at a time, under the care and attention of the Asset.

“You’ve done this before,” Philip said, and the Asset didn’t answer, although silence was also a form of answer.

 

-

 

He took a beer from the kitchen when he left, opening up the tab and taking in a mouthful of it. He came back into the living room - full of old, expensive furniture - with no real idea why he was still awake, except that he was. He fancied that if he listened very hard, he could probably still hear the puppies in the next room.

Philip wandered over to the desk, swamped with its papers, and set the can down. He swept them aside, making a space for something that wasn’t, strictly speaking, administration business, and sat down.

Out of the drawer, he took the leather notebook he had carried with him since the start. There were notes within - plans, diagrams, lists, but it wasn’t those he was looking for.

He turned the pages, glancing over each swirl of ink. They were all useful observations, made during the times he had felt a need to document what was happening. What he observed to be the most important.

About ten pages in, he found the drawing.

It was little more than a doodle, really. The plated metal of the man's shoulder stood out against the lined background, then disappeared into dark whorls of ink that had embedded deep into the next page.

Beside it, Philip had written:

  * Nervous. Uncertain. Escaped from- ? Prison / Military / Mental Facility?
  * Capable of surviving great physical trauma.
  * Instinct to obey? Fetch? Survive?



This was not the only page dedicated to his observations of the Asset, but it was the only one with a picture. It didn’t quite do the Asset justice, Philip thought, as it he looked at it. It seemed to say more about  _him_  than it did about the subject.

He turned the page, where he had previously forgone writing because of the way the ink had stained through, and picked up a pen.

On that page, he wrote:

  * Paternal instincts - animals in distress. Applies to Penny?



He paused for a moment, taking a sip of the warm, salty beer. Then, he wrote:

  * Does not want to harm.




	10. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _But why he said so strange a thing_   
>  _No Warder dared to ask:_   
>  _For he to whom a watcher’s doom_   
>  _Is given as his task,_   
>  _Must set a lock upon his lips,_   
>  _And make his face a mask._
> 
> \- Oscar Wilde, The Ballad Of Reading Gaol

He did not wake again, and slept well into the morning of the next day. Philip left as soon as he had eaten, heading onto the streets like he had never left.

It felt like home, now. People were out walking, helping, building. Some were sharing out supplies, some were sharing life stories. Philip didn't care  _what_  they were doing; it all felt fine and dandy to him.

Merle found him along the wall pretty soon.

"Heard you found some curs," he said, a crooked grin on his face. He raised his eyebrows and Philip would have laughed, if it had been a few weeks ago.

Instead, his expression remained neutral and he gave Merle a smile.

"Whole town's talking about it," Merle continued, to break the silence. "Say you got 'em from a drain - is that right?"

"That's right," Philip confirmed, his eyes drifting off to the people changing watch on the wall. "What do you have for me?"

Merle cleared his throat: a phlemy ker-ker-kerum, then stood next to Philip and unfurled a notebook that was a lot scruffier than the one sitting in Philip's office. He pointed to a rough map in pencil. "Place is empty. No one for miles. There's a lot of  _stuff_ -" He flipped the page over for Philip's eyes to run down a pencil list in very different handwriting. "But none of the human kind. Mostly booze."

"Did you bring that?" Philip asked.

Merle almost looked offended. "'Course I did. It's in the storeroom, under lock n key." He held up a ring of said keys and shook them.

"Good," Philip said, and Merle seemed satisfied by that one true response at least.

"Asso," he said, lowering his voice a tad. "Thought you'd want warnin' - [mexican insult]'s leader's back up early, wanderin' around. Looks kinda bitery.”

Philip looked at him side-on and nodded. He glanced back down to the notebook one more time, then clapped Merle on the back and started moving. "Keep workin'!" he called to the men on the wall as well as Merle. "Day's young, and the dead don't keep!"

“Bet they’d make fiiiiiine fightin’ dogs,” came Merle’s voice as he strode off, like he didn’t appreciate being left behind without a proper goodbye. “Growin’ up in a place like this.”

Philip turned to give him a smile that was more like a grimace, and kept walking. He had other things to do.

Something about the idea, though, that-- 

That stuck with him.

“Martinez!” Philip called, spreading his arms and presenting him with a beaming smile from ear to ear. “Fed up of being poked and prodded by the good doctor?”

Martinez glanced up the moment his name was called. He was clearly still wounded, hampered by the (oh, it had been so useful) bullet hole in his leg. He walked with a cane, now, and moved slowly, as if he had forced himself out of bed rather than outgrown it.

He seemed to flinch as Philip addressed him, but as soon as the grand gesture of appeasement was obvious, he uncurled himself until he was stood straight. That made him stand still. “Philip,” he said, almost easily.

Where Merle was uncouth, and often unpopular with the women in the group, Martinez was easy-going and a good charmer. His powers of appearance and ability to put on a good show, though, did not stand up to Philip’s talents: after all, he had been doing this all his life.

Those qualities made Martinez a better leader for morale. Most of the group still, if only technically, belonged to him, and if forced to choose between Philip and Martinez, the end result was uncertain.

Philip didn’t like uncertainties. Particularly ones that didn’t stand in his favour. 

He swooped in like he was welcoming back an old friend, slapping Martinez on the back and watching his discomfort with a sly sort of pleasure. He left his right arm on Martinez’s back and turned so that he was beside him, gesturing in a wide arc towards the rest of the town.

“What do you think?”

Martinez took a second to answer. “Impressive,” he said, his throat tight, and Philip wondered exactly how well he really was.

“Take a look,” Philip said, pushing him forward with the hand at his back. Martinez took a tense two steps. “The walls are steady and tall, the biters are target practice; we’ve even begun to grow our own food.”

He didn’t push him any further forward, feeling the resistance against his arm. Instead, Philip slid sideways and came around to face Martinez. “This should call for a celebration. Woodbury: alive and well, and its proud soldier back from the dead.”

He clapped his hands together, that deadly smile back on his face. “I know what you need,” he said, to Martinez’s pale, unsteady pallor. When Martinez unsurprisingly did not reply, Philip held up his hands. “Lights. Cameras. Action. People need something to root for. Something exciting.”

He winked at Martinez, then set his hand back on the man’s shoulder, turning him very gently. “You get yourself some rest; I’ll do everything. You just show up for the main event.”

Martinez eyed him, then nodded, quickly, like a wild bird pecking at the dirt.

“Good,” Philip said, and guided him the slow way back to the doctor’s office. When Martinez had limped inside, Philip only stood looking in the doorway, breathing smoothly in and out through his nose. When he realised the time passing, he broke away and left.

“Annie!” he called out, on the walk back home. She looked up, and when she saw him she smiled. “I just spoke to Caesar. He looks good.”

“Mhm,” she said, bobbing her curls up and down. She had a bunch of flowers in her arms. “He’s impatient,” she said, “But the doctor says he can put some weight on it now.”

“That’s great!” Philip’s face was honest and open. He leaned closer to ask her: “Listen, you wouldn’t know whether that generator Merle found is up and running yet, would you? Only I’m planning something for Caesar. A surprise.”

Her eyes went wide and her lips opened in an O. “Oh my god, that is so kind of you! Sascha fixed it yesterday; I’m sure she’ll help.”

Philip said nothing, only gave her another one of his indiscernible smiles. Then he touched the tip of his hairline and nodded at her. “Thank you,” he said, with great sincerity, then turned and walked away. 

He left the streets behind and strode up the stairs to his house. It had dark floors upstairs that cooled the rooms, and every window was wide open to catch the breeze. It seemed incongruous to care about thieves in a time like this.

“Asset,” he said, as he came in, but no one appeared.

Cocking his head to listen, he drew further in, wondering: if the Asset was not here, then where was he?

He heard a noise behind him and turned - there, just setting foot on the stairs, was the Asset. Holding onto his hand, with newspapers tucked under her arm, was Penny.

The Asset noticed him and paused imperceptibly, before continuing on. Penny didn’t realise until they reached him, and then she glanced away from Philip like she was embarrassed, or struggling with something.

“Hey, kiddo,” Philip said. He patted her on the shoulder and stood back, allowing them to pass by and enter the house.

Penny put her thumb in her mouth and looked at him as the Asset drew them in. Philip had a funny feeling he’d interrupted a conversation.

They disappeared into the puppy room for a minute, before the Asset came back out, closing the door behind him. “Sir,” he said, ready for him immediately.

Philip didn’t speak for a moment. He only peered at the Asset, like whatever Penny had been struggling with had passed onto Philip too, and the Asset was the key to both of them. In the end, though, he only shook his head.

“I need you,” he said, and the Asset followed him back out of the door.

 

-

 

“Benches here, chairs- there.” Philip spread his arms in a circle. “Make it a ring, lit up with the lights from the hall. Sascha has a generator; we’ll use that. See if you can find some music too. Something loud.”

The Asset nodded to these orders. He was being tasked with the preparation of an event: this was not dissimilar to missions he had been sent on before. 

The only real difference was that this time, no one was going to die.

It didn’t take him long to set up the stage in the way that Philip wanted. It was simple enough: benches and chairs surrounded a circle of earth, possibly a parking lot before, or a school playground. These were words that fit descriptions more than experiences for the Asset.

The lights were bright as sunlight and shone onto the ring, illuminating the soon-to-be competitors, or entertainers it should be said. The generator thrummed in the background, wires pouring out of it like intestines that drew all the way to the ring.

Philip came out to see the Asset’s progress after an hour. An hour had not been needed; the Asset had been waiting for almost half the time.

“This is good,” Philip said, as he came close. “Better. Good work.”

His eyes swept the scene, taking it all in, before he turned and crooked a finger in the Asset’s direction. “Come.”

There was an extra part to this mission, then. That was fine too. Before, several missions had segmented into parts the Asset had only been told about on the day, or later. He was trained to react fast, to any situation, and to obey without question.

This translated very well, it seemed, into post-apocalyptic living.

People looked at them twice, and likely stared, but Philip said nothing but pleasantries to them as he led the Asset out of the gate. Then, once they were out of sight of the watchers, he let the Asset off his leash.

“I want biters,” he said, leading the Asset to a van parked just off the road. “S’many of ‘em as you can.”

The Asset made his way around to the driver’s side of the vehicle, opening the door and getting inside. Philip followed, like something had just occurred to him. 

He came over to the window the Asset had rolled down, then handed him the keys. “Alive,” he said, then stood back up straight.

The Asset nodded and started the car, pulling out of the grass and onto the road like it was nothing out of the ordinary. That kind of servitude was useful to Philip. It leant him a certain kind of loyalty that allowed the Asset special privileges, if missions like these could be considered a privilege.

Surely it was something to be at the foremost of your leader’s trust? To know that you were considered one of the highest ranking members of the group?

And, in a way, to be prevented from having too long a leash as part of the privilege of being in that circle? Surely it was something, to have that.

Philip stood with both hands on his hips and watched the van leave. He didn’t wonder if the Asset would come back, but a tiny part of him thought of it.

 

-

 

In the end, he needn’t have thought at all.

The van drove back on time, sending the lookouts on the wall aflutter. One of them found Philip before they let the Asset in, asking for his permission to open the gate.

He stood up from his desk and went to the gate himself, drawn to the darkening sky outside and the promise of a performance.

When they let him in, Philip offered no more explanation than “You’ll find out tonight!” to the curious onlookers. He joined the Asset in the van, listening to the thud-thud of limbs banging against the plexiglass between them and the dead. 

They drove in silence to the cleared piece of land, ringed with lights. The Asset stopped the van around the back, where it would be furthest away from the audience.

While the vehicle idled in park, Philip turned his head slightly, leaning towards the middle. It was dark out here now, almost black, with the sun slipping slowly down over the horizon. Had to be pushing eight.

“I want you out there,” Philip said, offering no explanation.

He had thought about enlisting Merle, or one of the women to fight. He would have considered Martinez if the man’s wound hadn’t still been so great. After thinking it over since the Asset had driven away, though, it was so clear Philip almost wondered why he had even thought of using someone else.

“I want you to make a spectacle,” Philip said, and that got the Asset looking back at him.

“Sir?”

“These biters-” Philip jammed a thumb back at the interior of the van, where the noises were still coming from. “They’re part of the soul this town’s missing.”

He glanced out at the waiting ring. “I have guns, but I don’t have fighters. I have people, but I don’t have survivors.” Philip looked back at the Asset. “The only reason half of them are still alive’s because of you.”

The Asset’s gaze seemed to waver furiously between staying still or dropping to the floor.

Philip leaned closer. “Give them something to aim for,” he said, softly. “Let them see you work.”

The Asset nodded imperceptibly. His eyes were stuck to Philip as if evaluating the greatest threat in the room. By comparison, the thumps from the back seemed to do nothing to him.

Philip backed off, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Find your gear. I want hand-to-hand combat. Knives, pipes, anything you could find in the street is fine, but no guns.”

It was a day full of the clearest orders Philip had ever given the man. The Asset’s eyes returned to the wheel as Philip opened his door and stepped out onto the ground.

“Oh, and-”

The Asset turned back.

Philip smiled, long and slow. “Take your time.”

 

-

 

Music blared from the speakers. Light flooded the arena. It was ten sharp, according to someone’s watch that hadn’t stopped working yet.

Philip watched them gather from afar, waiting for the best possible moment.

They filled the stands as best they could. Even with the numbers they had, it wasn’t enough for a real audience. He would have to fix that.

When the last stragglers finally took their place, Philip held the microphone to his lips and summoned up the biggest smile he had. Visualising everything there was to come, he stepped out, striding into the centre of the circle with the tails of his leather trench-coat swaying.

“WELCOME!” he thundered. “To Woodbury’s VERY FIRST... RING OF FIRE!”

Troughs full of gasoline were burning around the outside of the circle - unnecessary, but befitting the name. People clapped and whooped.

Philip flung the wire of the mic out in front of him. “We’ve all struggled and toiled to build this town, so why not have a little fun?” Something moved on the edge of his vision and he nodded slightly. “Tonight, I want to show you something better than building walls. Something with  _real_  entertainment.”

He raised his arm and gestured it out to his right. “Give it up for Meeerrrrle Dixon, everybody!”

The crowd cheered as he came on, roused by the support. Yes, Merle wasn’t the type for leadership, but he knew how to bring out instinct in people.

“Come on!” Merle was shouting, punching the sky. “Yeah!”

Philip let the crowd have its way, then stepped back, leaving Merle the only person in the ring as the audience fell silent.

“I ain’t one for speeches,” Merle said, glancing Philip’s way, and the audience laughed.

He held up his fist, looking around making sure all could see. “Used to be people’d fight for what they want,” he said, his voice carrying.

As that sunk in, Merle strode to the side of the ring where he grabbed a bottle. “I got five bottles of whiskey here for any guy who beats me in a fight.”

Merle held the bottle up to the light, like he was checking it, but it was really for the audience’s benefit. Philip was slightly impressed, when he turned back to the audience.

“Any o’youse brave enough?”

The audience was quiet, and then someone stepped forward.

“I am,” Gemma said, grinning when Merle turned towards her.

Merle beckoned her with his hand. “Come on in, pretty lady.”

Philip had to admit, watching them spar in ways that were similar - both born out of living in Nowhere county, but Merle with a touch more ferocity where Gemma had balance - it was entertainment. Even these two, human as they were and known to all the rest, gave them something new that none of the town had experienced in a while.

They put on a good show. They didn’t hit too hard, didn’t aim too precisely. A lot of it could be better, with more time to practise, but neither of them were afraid of the other. They were matched well.

When Merle dropped down in the dirt and found Gemma’s hand on his throat, he held up his hands. “We have a winner!” Philip said, striding forward.

Gemma grabbed Merle’s hand and pulled him up from the ground, then took the bottle of whiskey. “Where’s the rest?” she said, laughing beneath wet tendrils of hair, and the audience clapped and cheered.

Philip moved between them and raised Gemma’s hand, boxing style. The crowd loved that.

He couldn’t help being a little bit proud of them. It had worked well.

“Swing by and grab the rest later,” Philip said, as they headed out of the ring, then nodded at Merle. “Got something stronger for you.”

Merle barked a laugh and left them.

“Best seat in the house for the winning competitor!” Philip raised his voice as he and Gemma came to the stands, guiding her over. People were only too happy to make way.

Once she had settled back down, the rest of them talking and joking around her, Philip stepped back, turning and crouching down on the ground.

The lights in the circle went out.

Conversations ended into hush. People watched, suddenly much more aware of the troughs of fire that flickered around the edges of the ring. It was almost entrancing.

Philip said nothing, standing back in the shadows to watch.

No person moved. Nobody breathed. Yet somehow, there he was.

The music started back up.

 

-

 

The Asset needed no introduction.

His combat gear - usually a full covering - had one sleeve missing. It was the one bright part of him: a silver flash - there one minute, gone the next; its sole competition his pale face.

He tumbled into the ring, somersaulting over the fire.

It didn’t take them long to hear the snarls, the groans. They were conditioned to respond, even if they weren’t soldiers.

Some people talked, some looked to Philip for help, some just screamed. The biter lurched forward and talked back at them in its slurred, dead tongue.

“ALRIGHT! IT’S NOT GONNA HURT YA!”

Merle’s voice froze them in their seats, even stilling those that had gotten to their feet. He came into view then, with some kind of pole in his hand with pincer claws clutched around the biter’s neck. Merle looked around, as if daring anyone else to move, the bruise on his cheekbone darkening in the low light.

The Asset hadn’t moved. He was still knelt in the centre of the ring, head down, palms on the earth.

Slowly, the watchers crept back to their seats and perched on them.

It was something, the way he moved.

It started with dancing just out of reach of the biter, picking away at it with his fists. Merle let the thing loose and it staggered forward, only to be kicked back, growling at the nerve of its prey.

The Asset didn’t seem worried about the yawning mouth covered in blood. He swept its feet out from under it and pinned it down on the ground with his hand around its neck, just like Gemma had.

Two more snarls sounded and the Asset whipped around, facing the new challengers in the ring. He left the other one lying in the dirt, as an extra challenge or a way to drive up tension in the ring.

They came at him both at once, achingly predictable. The Asset rushed right at them, driving his thumb and ring finger into the eyes of the first, pushing it down and leaping over it, twisting his body in a kick that threw the second to one side.

He glanced down at the biter he had used as a vault and discovered that he had torn its head off. The yellow face twitched and snapped in his grip. 

The metal plates on his arm engaged and it twitched no more.

It was like he was all alone out there. Like nothing bothered him in the world.

Before, Philip had been busy making sure that situations went in his favour, that he made it out alive, that he could still carry Penny. He had never had the chance just to see the Asset work.

He stood, silent, at the ringside, and watched.

The biter that the Asset had kicked aside came back at him, reaching for his torso. He let it try to bite, to the horror of the crowd, but it could only mouth harmlessly at the leather gear.

Hooking his arm around the back of its neck, the Asset spun it around, throwing it onto its knees and getting it in a headlock with his metal arm. The thing bit stubbornly, but it could get no purchase on the smooth steel, and when the Asset’s arm pressed into its mouth it only groaned until its head burst.

One left. The Asset stood, having barely broken a sweat, looking down at the fallen biter. Then he turned to find the one he had left on the floor earlier.

Three of them fell on him from all directions. Fresh, unbroken biters.

The audience audibly gasped. People shouted out warnings; some even began to stand, but this time it was not with the intention of running.

Philip looked at them, then back at the Asset.

There was movement under the cluster of biters, then two sprays of blood arced into the air. Two of them - one either side of him - fell away with their necks opened up all the way to their jaw.

The Asset reached forward and stabbed the third in the head. Then he turned, grappling one of the bleeding dead to the ground in a move that seemed far more useful for the living. He put his hand on the back of its head and broke it against the dirt floor.

He came up with both knives flashing, driving one up through the hole in the other wounded biter’s jaw and the other into its stomach, slicing it open. Biter spilled out onto the ground.

The last-- was it the last? He checked, searching, almost scenting, for any sign of more biters. Merle wasn’t there, but that wouldn’t necessarily mean he was free--

At last, the Asset stood and watched the final one still rolling on its back. It stared up at him, gargling with hunger.

He sheathed one of the knives, then knelt down with ease. In such a way that no one would see unless they were really looking for it, he glanced up at Philip, then pressed the knife against its ear and shoved it in.

 

-

 

After, when all the crowds were thinning out and drizzling home, the Asset found his master at the ringside.

“We haven’t talked,” Philip said, waiting until the last dredges of humanity had left the vicinity. He turned towards the Asset. “Since Atlanta.”

The Asset’s moon-blue eyes watched him back. Such blatant curiosity in the hands of such a great weapon should surely be illegal.

“How’s Penny?” Philip said, turning his gaze back on the horizon.

There was a slight pause, before the Asset said: “With friends.”

“She was here tonight.”

“Yes. Her friend - Ben - and his mother.”

“Good,” said Philip, and neither of them spoke.

The moon tracked upwards through the empty sky. It was warm out, but not too warm, even though Philip knew that the kind of fighting the Asset had performed would have caused his temperature to rise beyond comfortable.

“Are you hot?” he said.

The Asset’s eyebrows drew inward, just a touch. “I am serviceable,” was what he came up with.

“No,” Philip said. “Are you too hot? Do you need a drink? Water?”

The Asset only stared at him and shook his head, even though he looked scandalised by having to do so.

“When did you last eat?”

“Earlier.”

“Sleep?”

“Overnight.”

Philip left it for a moment. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure why he was asking those questions. It wasn’t out of the same paternal care that the Asset had exhibited towards the stray puppies, nor entirely out of concern for his weapon. No, it was more that something - something just out of reach - was irritating him.

“When you were trained,” Philip said, looking out at the moon. “Were you expected to keep to a regular schedule?”

His eyes slid sideways, tracking down the Asset’s black hair.

“My missions were irregular,” the Asset replied. “I was required to be functional at all times, for the duration of the mission.”

It was the only time the Asset looked away from him, as he answered that. Philip spoke to his profile, mostly covered by his hair.

“Were you expected to follow all orders?”

“Yes,” the Asset said. He glanced at Philip; that was easier, then.

Philip didn’t move. He only raised a hand and touched it slightly to the Asset’s shoulder, drawing him back, back, deep into the dark.

“What were your orders?” Philip asked, softly.

“Confidential,” the Asset said, mirroring his quiet.

“What could they have been?” Philip said, and the Asset took a moment.

“To execute a target,” he said. “To remove a faulty operative. To acquire an article. To appease my superiors. To eliminate dissent. To cause a reaction.”

“To change the world,” Philip said, brushing his fingertips just beneath the Asset’s chin.

The Asset’s eyes flickered and he inhaled through his throat.

“You know-” Philip drew his fingers up until their pads rested on the Asset’s cheek. “We’re well-matched, you and I.”

“Commander and soldier,” he continued. “Follower and leader. Right hand and left.”

He watched the Asset through half-lidded eyes, drawing patterns on his skin. “They don’t know,” he said. “They don’t know who we are.”

“You are my superior,” the Asset said, thickly.

Philip smiled, just a tiny bit, then touched his thumb to the Asset’s bottom lip. “You know who I am,” he said.


	11. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He does not wake at dawn to see_   
>  _Dread figures throng his room,_   
>  _The shivering Chaplain robed in white,_   
>  _The Sheriff stern with gloom,_   
>  _And the Governor all in shiny black,_   
>  _With the yellow face of Doom._
> 
> \- Oscar Wilde, The Ballad Of Reading Gaol

He was drunk. The glass in his hand, empty.

This didn’t stop him. He shoved the key in the lock until it broke, swore, then tried the handle and it was unlocked anyway.

“Honey!” 

He staggered down the hall, dropping his keys wherever they fell. His feet scuffed the worn wooden floor and he blinked his wet eyes, trying to see better.

“El,” he said. Shouted. “EL.”

She came appeared on the stairs, at last. Philip squinted up at her. “Ah-last. I need- we need some, uh.”

He trailed off; gestured with his hand instead. “ _Keys._  Gon’ need a lockpick.”

She didn’t reply; she had her arms folded across her chest, and he didn’t like that.

“What?” he said, grabbing the bannister and stepping onto the first step.

He peered up at her through watery eyes - her standing there, still as Jesus on his cross. “Think yer better than me? Hm? Stayin’ at home-” He swung his arm around. “Doin’ FUCK all?”

He swayed, holding the railing until he regained his balance. Then he took another step, and another. “TALK.”

Her gaze followed him. Her long, soft blonde hair curled just over her shoulders in her nightgown, making her look so pretty even as spiteful as she was. “Yuh don’t get to  _judge_  me,” Philip slurred, heaving his way up towards her. “Not th’man who GAVE yuh this house. This- life.”

He dipped his head down to watch where his feet were going for a moment, then lifted it back up, his upper lip raised over his teeth. “Without me, you’d be NOTHIN’.”

She still said nothing. She only stood and stared at him; bright blue eyes in a beautiful face, pale as the moon. Philip reached for her and grabbed her, his thumbs digging deep into her upper arms. Harder than he really intended.

He pulled her close, so close she would feel the alcohol rolling off him. “I should never ‘ave brought you  _Penny.”_

She slapped him - a bright flash of pain, kicking his face out sideways.

He turned his head back, slowly, to look at her, his fingers digging into the weak muscles of her arms. His face contorted and he shoved her back, cursing her.

She went over the railing.

He almost didn’t notice; like she’d vanished right out of his arms.

When he saw her there, jerking and spasmodically drawing patterns of blood all across the floor, his hands closed. He slid down against the wall.

He sat there until morning, until the dawn light came creeping through the door, and when the night was fully over, Ella Blake came back.

 

-

 

He pushed the Asset back with his hot hands. He kicked the door behind them to close it. He didn’t breathe - he was drunk, except he wasn’t now, was he?

He kept asking the soldier questions. He couldn’t stop. They were one after the other, unfinished, and cut off with the Asset’s lips biting the breath right out of him.

They seemed to communicate with some sort of silent language besides the words. Philip had only half-formed the name  _Penny_  when the Asset answered with some mix of lyrical syllables that he  _understood_ as safe, staying with friends. He asked what time it was, the Asset said late. He asked whether he would-- the Asset said yes.

Then the questions switched to statements: rough, unedited thoughts out in the open.  _Sit down_ ,  _on there_ , and  _you’re somethin’._

Philip kicked off his shoes and came forward, straddling the Asset’s lap where the man was sat obediently on the couch. He leaned forward, pressing their torsos together, and suddenly the leather armour was too much. Too great a dividing layer between them.

Philip’s hands pulled at the straps until they found a zipper - it was that easy to take off, it just unzipped - and then there were buttons for the strange belted straps but he unbuttoned those quickly too. It was a little harder to get the thing off: the Asset had to pull his flesh arm out before he could hook the metal one out through the sleeve hole. Philip tried not to stop kissing him.

He wanted to-- he didn’t know what he wanted. All he did was hold the Asset by the shoulders, Philip’s fingers slipping around to clasp the muscle - the cold metal-- of his arms in his hands. The Asset’s mouth was hot and his lip tasted very slightly of sweat. Philip wondered what it would take to exhaust him.

There was no biter around this time; the Asset had already dispatched them all. They were alone, or as alone as they could be, with no one else in the house but them and the animals, and soon nothing but animals.

Philip pulled back, touching his tongue to the rise of his bottom lip. He kept his hands on the Asset - his chest already missed the feel of another’s against it - while he tried to get his head steady.

He grasped for something to say. Words were always his fallback.

This time, they failed him.

Instead, he settled for shaking his head to try and rid it of its thoughts, and leant back in, his hands settling on the thin cotton shirt the Asset wore drawing patterns, his thumbs searching for pressure points. They found them, and the Asset twitched beneath his hands. Twin bumps pricked upwards, palpable even through the t-shirt.

Philip pushed his shirt up and put his mouth on them, tonguing them the same way he might a woman. He was confused. There was something about this that was not right. He pulled back; shook his head again, his brows twitched together incrementally. 

“Sir?” the Asset said, after a moment. He was breathing hard. Something about that seemed wrong, seemed incongruous, and Philip remembered the way he’d moved in the ring, the way there had been no harsh breaths, the way the Asset had remained perfectly functional the whole way through.

He only stared back at the man beneath him, then slowly took one leg off, then the other.

He backed off, almost the whole way to the door. It was slightly open, and Philip was torn between kicking it shut and wrenching it aside, tearing his way back out.

“See to the dogs,” Philip said, then turned and left the room.

He went to his bed, where he’d spent nearly no time at all in the past few months. There was not much of him in here - most of it was out in the study, where the Asset still sat - or did he? Philip didn’t know. He had left him there.

He had a marked fear of opening the curtains, even though he felt suffocated in here. He eyed them, then shook his head and went over to sit on his bed.

He took the long trenchcoat off and hung it on a chair. He took his pants off and laid them on the floor. He got into bed and couldn’t sleep, until he did, and then it was full of dreams.

 

-

 

He went to Milton in the morning. It was one of the first times he had visited since the surgery had been set up. Milton was their stand-in doctor, aided by one of the women who used to be a nurse, until they could find someone more qualified to do the job.

Milton almost dropped the syringe he was holding when he saw him. Philip put on a smile, a little scandalised that he hadn’t already prepared that, and gave Milton his best nonthreatening body language.

They made small talk about the syringe, then Milton said: come in, come in.

“What are you working on?” Philip asked, when he saw the bottles, the sets of syringes lined up on the counter.

“Just something-” Milton flicked his hands. “Unimportant. A little project, nothing to shout about yet.”

Philip nodded. He saw the set-up they had in here - Martinez had gone home and the bed was fresh and clean. “Please,” Milton said, and Philip almost sat on the bed before he noticed the seats.

“How is Martinez?” Philip asked him, once they were sat down.

Milton seemed to talk very much with his hands, even safe and secure behind Woodbury’s walls. They were all of a flutter. “Fine,” Milton said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “He’ll walk. Maybe even run.”

He pointed a finger, then immediately thought better of it and turned it into a motion. “Your soldier picked the right place to shoot. Any higher and he would’ve split the bone.”

Philip grunted. He did not want to discuss the Asset right now.

Milton shared none of his sympathies. He leaned forward. “Who is he- that man? Where did he-?” He leaned slightly backward again, as if thinking he had gone too far. “I mean, he’s  _good._ ”

Philip took a moment, then rested his elbow against the table between them. He was, apparently, going to have to talk about him. “He’s a fighter,” Philip said.

Milton interrupted. “FBI? Navy seals?” Then he saw Philip’s face. “Sorry, sorry.”

“This town’s going to need him,” Philip continued, as if Milton had said nothing. “We need to learn how to fight. How to protect ourselves.”

“From the biters?”

“From everyone.”

Milton looked a little sick at that suggestion. His fingers twirled in his hands. “Don’t we  _want_  everyone we can find? This is a town you’ve built us - it needs a population.”

Milton Mamet was so sensible. So conscientious. It fit this new world like a scarf on the end of a rifle.

He continued on, doggedly. “Anyone can help. We could find doctors, teachers, government officials. Barring all entry to anyone is suicide.”

Philip folded his hands over one another and leaned back. “You’re right,” he said, with a smile, and Milton visibly relaxed. “We need inhabitants.”

He tilted his head. “What did you think of the performance last night?”

Milton went still again, and Philip laughed. He stood up, pushing his chair in where he had been sitting. “Don’t say anything; think about it. It’s right for these people to get some light relief.”

Milton’s mouth twisted at the end, but he did as told and made no comment. Instead, he seemed to realise something as Philip started for the door.

“Aren’t you here to ask me something?”

Philip stopped, his hand on the door. He turned back towards Milton and shook his head, giving him another, if less believable, smile. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Just wanted to check up on you.”

He left the building and wondered if there was anywhere in Woodbury where he could be alone without feeling the walls closing in on him. He wondered again why his first port of call had been the doctor’s office - had been Milton. Maybe it was the vast difference in behaviour between him and the Asset. Maybe it was the similarities.

Philip took a long walk. He made his way around the perimeter, in and out of the side streets, checking and re-checked that the walls were secure. He called out and nodded to all of the people on duty - four, one on each wall for now, until they had more.

He followed each empty building all the way through to the back. He tried doors, locked or unlocked, searching for a way that the outside could get  _in._

He found nothing. Nothing at all. Until he looked in the last one.

It was his own house, his own place. The upstairs was fine, he knew that, but the door at the very back of the property: the one that used to lead out to a fenced yard. That, he found, could be opened.

He stepped outside and closed the door behind him, touching the knife next to the gun on his belt.

There was a gate leading deeper into the yard; he followed it, finding himself surrounded by long grass and wizened old trees. At the end of the yard, the fence was small, with a low gate leading out into something else.

It was the rest of the town, is what it was. That shouldn’t have bothered him. It shouldn’t have been very interesting: after all, they had picked that particular part of town for the four walls it gave them. This was just the cast-off debris, the unseen shadow of Woodbury.

He latched the gate behind him and headed out onto the road. There was some kind of factory or warehouse to his right, and he peered in, past the fencing that surrounded the place.

It was empty. No lights flickered on and off. No person seemed to move inside.

That was no guarantee these days. Not even in daylight. Philip unsheathed his knife and gripped it by the hilt as he walked on, pushing the fire exit door handle down and making his way in.

It was much darker within. Despite the bright morning air outside, the building had few windows and Philip wondered what exactly it had been used for as he crept down the corridor.

Each room had a thick metal door. Philip pushed open all of them, standing stock-still ready to move if anything came lurching out.

Nothing did. It was quiet in here, very close and still.

It felt-- safe. Even with the lack of windows.

Coming to the final room upstairs, Philip found that it overlooked one of the lower rooms, like a strange sort of office in a very small factory. But there was no machinery, no money, and no materials, which made no sense really.

Philip tapped his knuckle against the glass. Nothing stirred. He was alone.

He sat up in the office for a while. That, at least, had furniture: a comfortable wheely leather chair, a dusty desk, and a very old computer. 

Philip leaned back in the chair and turned it towards the desk, moving the mouse around. It ran on a roller ball rather than a red dot and it sat on a very battered Mickey Mouse mat.

Whoever had worked here before had had some sense of humour, anyway.

He tried the computer just in case. It didn’t turn on.

Forcing himself up out of the chair, Philip found himself wandering back downstairs. He closed the doors to each of the smaller rooms and headed into the bigger one - the one that was overlooked by the office.

He was reminded, quite suddenly, of a book he had once read. He had spent much of his time as a child and young teen with his head buried in some book or another, outcast by his peers. The local library never brought him much in the way of real literature, but he remembered a book that had later come to the screen: the Shining.

He had been fifteen when the film aired for the first time. The theatre had been packed full of people, mainly kids his age or older, and school had been filled with constant repetitions of the best lines and scenes for months after.

Philip had read the book two years prior. He was excited by the movie - they all were, but apart from the scenes that everyone remembered, he felt that what he had experienced in the book itself had not quite shone through.

He could remember leaving the theatre on his own with an ache of deep-set disappointment, even as the others chattered all around him. He remembered the taste of coca cola on his tongue, drying out into a bitter glue, and the hot air of the evening.

This place was anything but. It was cool in here, with the dark rooms lit barely by high-set windows. There was no noise, no taste, nothing but the sense that he was very alone in the building. There was not even the thrum of a boiler, even though Philip seemed to listen for it.

He had felt  _at home_  in the Overlook. That was what was missing. All of his classmates had let out deep, grumbling “All work” speeches and threatened fellow students with great shouts of “Heeeere’s JOHNNY!” like no one remembered the lines. It was constant. All the time. 

Still no one, not student, nor actor, had given Philip the same feeling he had while reading it. The same feeling he had felt in here-- was beginning to feel in here.

The Overlook had toyed with its caretakers. It had toyed with the minds of its audience, too - as he read it, Philip had become hyperaware to sounds, to changes in his environment, thinking he too might find the dead around the corner someday.

That had been a very pointless thought until now.

He knew that the hotel was supposed to be the bad guy - or, at least, a part of the evil in the book. He saw the way that it wormed its subtle tendrils into the minds of those inside it, breaking them apart and bringing out their madness for all to see. Still, though, there had been something about it all that seemed very right to a much younger Philip.

He had always believed in letting the truth be hidden, up to a point. He knew that sometimes there were thoughts and feelings so immense that they caused pain to hold them within. He had talked to his brother one time, about the Overlook, and burned so hot when Brian insulted it that Philip had broken his collarbone.

It was not the first or the last time they had fought, but it was the first time Philip had gotten away with it.

This building--  _this,_  seemed so close to the Overlook he had adored.

It had rooms like a hotel. It had an office, a single office, where another Jack would have once sat watching over the inhabitants. And it was cold - not as cold as snow, but it was cold regardless, and the more time Philip spent inside the less he felt the knotted cancer that had plagued him ever since they came to Woodbury.

He breathed, and touched the walls, and looked around. Cement. Cement everywhere. He could turn this into somewhere he could go, for whatever he needed to do. He could escape down here from the life everyone seemed to expect him to live.

He could make his own Overlook.

 

-

 

In honour of the discovery, Philip went on down to Gemma’s house and spent the rest of the day with his daughter. The adults talked and laughed together on the porch, drinking coffee that Gemma’s friend Jennifer had found a way to make, while the kids played outside

“It’s the same brand,” she was saying, gesticulating as she spoke. “Just boil water over a fire and pour it through the coffee grains.”

She burst out laughing. “Just don’t ask how I strain them!”

Gemma laughed with her and even the corners of Philip’s mouth rose on their own.

He felt refreshed. Invigorated. When Gemma called Ben and Penny over for lunch, Philip protested, but ended up spending the meal there. He had forgotten the last time he ate with a gang of people, not to mention around a long wooden table.

Philip had to say, he performed admirably. He smiled and joked with his daughter; he rolled a pea across the table to make her laugh; he asked adult questions of Ben like a father addressing his daughter’s new boyfriend.

Ben clearly couldn’t decide whether to reply with perfect manners or blush and hide. Philip went easy on him, letting the other adults join in on the joke.

Eventually, the topic turned to the ring.

“It was amazing!” Jennifer said. She pointed her fork in Gemma’s direction. “I had no idea you were such a fighter!”

Gemma and Philip exchanged the briefest of knowing glances, before she replied.  _They_  knew it had all been a sham. Even if Gemma had gotten in a few blows more than Merle had expected, it had only been in fun. A way of building up the crowd before the main act.

Jennifer turned to Philip for commentary, who inclined his head and raised his glass. “She earned her whiskey,” he said, taking a sip.

“It was a little too violent for the kids, though, wasn’t it?” Jennifer went on, eyeing the two children sat quietly at the table.

Philip’s first instinct was to sneer, but he held it off, only letting out a small  _hm_  before he opened his mouth to reply.

“It was okay!” a small voice piped up.

The whole table turned towards the source in surprise. Penny looked back at them.

She had her knife in one hand and her fork in the other, with her fists resting against the surface and the cutlery pointing up. “Asset knows how to fight!” she said.

“Acid?” Jennifer asked. “Is that his name?”

“A pet name,” Philip supplied, slipping back into the conversation. When Jennifer turned towards him, he only looked back at her. “We don’t know his real name.”

“How strange,” Jennifer commented. Philip got the feeling she wanted to know much, much more.

He wasn’t disappointed a few minutes later, when after stirring her second coffee of the day, Jennifer started up again.

“Does he live with you? That Acid?” she asked. “Only-”

“Jenny,” Gemma said, but Philip smiled and waved her on. Gemma gave him an apologetic look as Jennifer happily continued.

“No one sees him coming and going - except when he’s with you of course, my dear,” she said, meaning Penny. “But I’ve asked everyone and none of them say he stays with them. Yours is the only house he ever seems to enter.”

“Well, he  _is_  free to come and go,” Philip said, leaning backward. “My door is open to anyone who needs it.”

“So he  _does?”_ Jennifer said.

_“Jenny.”_

“It’s just a question! Can’t blame a gal for being curious.”

Philip paused for a moment, wondering what he could give her. “He takes care of my daughter when I’m not around,” he said, eventually, though it was really only a couple of seconds later. “In return, he can stay whenever he wants to.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little... creepy?” Jennifer said, curling her hands around her hot coffee. Gemma dug the edge of her spoon into the table.

Philip continued to smile, but it had begun to look less genuine. His body was tense and his jaw was set: the signs were slight, but recognisable.

She took a sip of her drink and he exhaled quietly, trying to let some of it out.

“I mean, letting him loose like that,” she said, when she put the cup back down. “With a child in the house.”

Philip became, if anything, more hospitable and kind. “Oh, he’s no trouble,” he said, his hands opening up and his body relaxing. “Boy’s a natural. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. He just needs someone to take care of him, now and then, that’s all.”

Jennifer seemed unsure. “I don’t know,” she said. “Wasn’t it those boys from Columbine who were quiet and nice, before they up and ki-”

Gemma’s over-exaggerated expressions must have finally become visible to her, because Jennifer tailed off and Gemma soared back over her to try to pick up the mess.

“Anyway!” Gemma said, clasping her hands together. “I have a lot of work to do, and I’m sure Philip has more than he can spare, so let’s clear up and let him go before sunset, shall we?”

She met Philip’s gaze, sending him repeated  _sorry_ s in a nonverbal way that he could quite understand. She was embarrassed. She felt she had put him in a bad position, possibly sacrificed her good relationship with him.

That was interesting.

Once Jennifer had left and the kids had excused themselves, Philip headed in to wash up with Gemma. She spoke to him then.

“She’s just- she lets her mouth run away with her. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

“It’s fine,” Philip said, kneeling down to hoist the bucket full of water onto the countertop. “She’s just bein’ curious. Everyone’s curious these days.”

“I know,” Gemma said, taking the plates and dumping them into the bucket with more force than was really necessary. Soapy water splashed onto Philip.

“Oh gosh,” she said. “I’m so sorry! Let me get that-”

She grabbed a kitchen towel amid his protests and practically slapped it onto him. She held his shirt in one hand to keep it taut and dabbed at the surface with the towel, trying to get to it before the water really soaked in.

Both of them realised she was rather close at the exact same time.

Gemma was not exactly the kind of girl Philip would’ve idolised at a younger age, but she was rather pretty, and in a way that said she kind of knew it, even if she was still a little shy. She had her blonde hair tied back tight in a ponytail today and soft wisps had escaped to drift down around her face. She had kind brown eyes and rough hands. Philip watched her watch him with a fetching sort of curiosity.

She darted away before he did. Holding the kitchen towel in one hand with her mouth in an O, she apologised again, this time busying herself with putting the towel away and refusing to look at him. Embarrassed again.

Philip let her go. She went after the kids, mumbling some excuse about Ben not washing his face, and he waited a minute before going after her.

She was sat on the porch looking out at Ben and Penny playing tag in the road. Philip came up behind her, knowing what he had to say.

“My wife had blonde hair,” he said, after a moment or two. She looked up at him, clearly not expecting to hear that.

“She was so sharp I thought she would leave, our entire first year together,” Philip continued, and Gemma smiled. “She didn’t, of course.”

“Penny was her darling. Her bright baby girl. When she left, I think it hurt  _her_ the most.”

“What happened?” Gemma asked him.

“She was one of the first.”

“I’m sorry.”

What else could she say?


	12. Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _With bars they blur the gracious moon,_   
>  _And blind the goodly sun:_   
>  _And they do well to hide their Hell,_   
>  _For in it things are done_   
>  _That Son of God nor son of Man_   
>  _Ever should look upon!_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> \- Oscar Wilde, The Ballad Of Reading Gaol

The next morning, refreshed, and not having seen the Asset since two nights previous, Philip got up early. He washed his face. He made his breakfast. He sat down at the living room desk and went over plans to extend the generator to a grid that would light up all of Woodbury.

On the corners of the paper, he doodled diagrams of the new building he had found. He made a floor plan while thinking of something else: not much, just a few scribbles here and there, but it was enough to start with.

He heard Penny get to her feet a few hours later. She came stumbling, yawning, into the room and paused when she saw him, as if she wasn’t sure whether she should really be in there.

Philip put down his pen and leaned back in his chair, giving her a smile that spread across his face. He swung one of his arms outward and Penny saw it, taking only a nanosecond to decide before running towards him, flinging herself into his arm.

Philip took her weight and heaved her into his lap. “Ohhhh!” he said, squashed. “You’re big now.” Penny giggled.

He could tell she was glad just to be touching him again. He felt something of the same - like some unknown emptiness within him had just been refilled. Everything was coming up Philip.

“Want to see what Daddy’s working on?” Philip asked.

Penny nodded, her thumb closed in her mouth. Both of them peered down at the papers.

“Remember how you used to be able to turn the lights on?” Philip said, bouncing her up and down a little in his lap. Penny nodded again. “Well, soon you should be able to do that again.”

Penny seemed deep in thought for a moment, then asked: “Can I have a nightlight?”

Philip laughed. “Of course,” he said. He tickled his index finger against her cheek. “You can have as many as you want.”

“A BILLION!” she said, grabbing onto his hand and giggling away.

He picked her up and stood at the same time, galavanting through the room. “Do you want to see the puppies?”

“Yes!!!”

They went in, Philip bringing fresh newspaper, which he scattered around the floor as he picked up the old pieces, setting them in a trashcan in the corner. It seemed slightly incongruous - though he was happy to do it - for him to be cleaning up after them. Surely that was the Asset’s job.

He had not woken up intending to summon him so early, but part of him must have wanted to, to bring him here. "Where's Asset?" Philip asked Penny.

She pointed at the wall, in the direction of the master bedroom. "O'er there!" she said, loudly.

Leaving her with the puppies and the door mostly shut, Philip came out of the dog room. He had tiny hairs stuck to his sleeves and they caught his eye as he placed his hand on the door handle, opening his bedroom door.

"You're needed," Philip said, into the apparently empty room. Then: "I have a mission for you."

His Asset appeared at the open window, apparently having been perching there on the overhanging roof. Philip wondered how Penny had known.

He ducked his head as he came in-- or was it just to get through the window?

"I want you to escort us," Philip said. "Me and Penny. Outside of these walls."

The Asset glanced up - surprise? Distress? Devastation? He acknowledged the order with a short nod, lowering his gaze again.

Philip slid ever so slightly further into the room. "Will that be a problem?"

The shake of the head was even quicker than the nod.

"Then come here," Philip said, and as the Asset came over, Philip didn't move. He didn't head out the door and he didn't back away to let the Asset pass by in front of him.

Instead, he waited until the man was in touching distance and reached out, taking the Asset by the cheek. There really wasn't much flesh left there. Mainly just the cheekbone beneath it.

Philip gently tugged his cheek forward, getting the Asset to put one-two steps towards him. Then he let go, swiping his thumb over the red mark that was already starting to fade. His eyes never left the Asset.

"Kiss me," Philip said, and the Asset came forward at once, leaning up slightly to touch their lips together. When the man dropped back, Philip took a curling, deep pleasure in the just barely noticeable threat in his eyes.

"Good," Philip said, his mouth twitching. He stood back and allowed the Asset passage out.

They took the biggest truck: one with round floodlights fixed to the roof rack and fat tyres that would see them through most any terrain. Philip had to fight off  _Merle_  of all people, but after a few strained words it became clear that Philip's mind was not to be swayed. They were going.

Penny had the middle seat and Philip and the Asset rode on either side of her; Philip driving. It was like a family vacation - similar to the time they had gone out to the Chattahooga, but a little different. This one really felt like there was no going back, that the world they had found themselves in now would be one that they were destined to stay in.

"You want to go see the courthouse?" Philip was asking Penny. "Find out where all the bad guys go before prison?"

She was nodding her head, her tiny hands on the dashboard. It was questionable as to whether she was really listening. "Uhuh!"

"And Asset," Philip said, his tone of voice changing just so slightly. Just enough that the person he was addressing would notice. "Have you ever been to court?"

"Once," the Asset supplied him with. It seemed to satisfy Philip in a way that it shouldn't have.

"Daddy's had a look inside once or twice," Philip said, now talking to the whole family. "But if we go now, you can sit on the judge's chair! You want to do that?"

"Mhm!"

Philip grinned and turned off at the next right. "She'll make the new laws of Woodbury, she will."

He found them a parking space in what probably used to be a church yard. Now, the town sat disused and empty, and they really could have parked anywhere. Philip's gaze met the Asset's and he nodded: he knew his job.

The sun beat down on the trio. There had been little rain the past month, and it was beginning to take its toll on town morale. Not because they didn't have enough water - they did, from the river - but because it took so damn long to fetch it up from there.

The Asset shadowed Penny like a dog. Hungry or not, thirsty or not, tired or not, his needs lay far below the two owners'. He knew that better than both of them.

Philip led them over to the front building, pushing open the half-closed door. The rest of the party followed behind.

"Hello!" Philip called. "Anybody in here?"

No one answered. Something lurched, growling, out of the hall, and the Asset darted forward and stabbed it in the brain, stepping back to Penny's side as quickly as he had left it.

They went on, stopped every now and then for one of the men to dispatch a biter or two. Penny said nothing, only cringing a little bit when the biters were particularly rotten.

Both of their hands were gory by the time they entered the main courtroom. It was full of empty seats, and Philip strode down the aisle like he owned the place. He laughed, almost disbelieving, raising his hands and turning back to the other two. "Look at this!"

They were. Both admiring and closely.

He came back, reaching for Penny's hand. "Come here, Pen'. I want to show you."

She ran along to keep up with his long strides, her hand clasped tightly in his. He brought her up to the witness stand and the Asset's eyes followed.

"See this?" Philip lifted Penny up, setting her down on his lap as he perched on the chair in the witness box. "This is where the suspect sits. You remember suspects? Like Scar."

"He killed the lion."

"Exactly." Philip's eyes met the Asset's over the lip of the box. "And if he was human, he would sit here while a lawyer asked him questions. And the lawyer would try to work out whether or not he had done it."

"But he did!" Penny said, her hands scrabbling at Philip to try and turn to face him. "He did it!"

"He did," Philip said, readjusting her so that she was more comfortable. "But if he lied, he might convince the whole court that he was innocent. And then he'd never go to prison."

She wriggled so much Philip let go and she hopped to the floor, climbing up into the judge's box. He gave her a boost to get over the partition.

The Asset immediately began to track around to the right, to check that side for danger.

Penny peered over the partition at Philip, then disappeared and giggled. Philip watched her with a smile soaking into his face like oil. She was not supposed to be here, none of them were supposed to be here, but they could be, because there wasn't a law to say they couldn't anymore. Philip ran his hand over the witness box and found the groove that he'd made with his fingernail many years earlier.

He remembered the room they'd held him in while they'd waited for court to be in session. He remembered the feel of the cold cuffs on his wrists. He remembered the sullen, almost bored looks of the cops shepherding him in. The glowering look of the judge.

Now who sat here? Not them.

Penny peered over again and made a face.

"What, pumpkin?" Philip asked, trying to read it from her.

"Need a wee," she said, and he thought: he remembered where those were too.

"Okay," he said, and held out his arms. She hopped into them and he guided her back down to ground level, taking her through the door into the holding part of the court. The Asset followed behind them.

"Check the toilets," Philip said, so the Asset did.

He turned and dropped to one knee to address Penny. "Now, you're a big girl now," he said. "Will you be alright going in there by yourself?"

She hesitated, then nodded. Philip squeezed her shoulder. "Attagirl," he said. When the Asset came back, Philip held the door open for her and she went in on her own.

In answer to the surprised look the Asset gave him, Philip turned and grabbed him by the collar, throwing him against the wall. He was already half-hard and it didn't take long for him to be rutting against the Asset like a goddamn bitch in heat. They dove in and out of each other's mouths - Philip furious, the Asset more measured - their hands grabbed for each other; Philip forced the Asset's hands down by his sides.

He bit the Asset's lip so hard it started to bleed, drew back, looked at it, then bit it again, squeezing the length of the Asset's growing hardon through his pants. Philip was intoxicated, though, more insistent, and he unbuckled his pants just enough to get his erection out before he went for the Asset's.

The Asset tried to help - Philip wasn't sure why - he wanted none of it, shoving the Asset's hands away. He ripped down the Asset's zip and grabbed for his dick too, finally getting the two of them together and rubbing his hand over both of them in one shuddering stroke.

Despite his apparent clemency, Philip's methods were more him jerking off against the Asset's erection rather than the two of them in equal measure. It didn't seem to matter: the Asset was affected, heavily, and that drove Philip mad.

Deep in the Asset's scent, at the point where his neck met his shoulder, Philip was too focused on the assault he was leading on the Asset's neck to really process the scream. The Asset stiffened as he heard it and Philip bit on, groaning as his orgasm rolled up on him and dragged him over, thrusting him up against the Asset in a furious haste that seemed so unplanned and unthought-through.

"Sir," the Asset said as Philip followed on the tail end of it, only it came out far more slurred and breathy than Philip was used to hearing. He pulled back and the Asset jerked away, shoving his way through the bathroom door and leaving Philip standing there trying to figure out which way was up again.

When nothing happened for a moment too long and the most recent memories started to process themselves, Philip blinked hard and made himself decent, wondering if the Asset had taken time to do that before he had left him. He pushed open the bathroom door and went in.

Penny was sat on the sink with the Asset pouring one of their bottles of water over her legs. "She saw a cockroach in the stall," the Asset explained. The reason for the washing was suddenly obvious.

The Asset was-- dishevelled, yes, but he was still operating at peak capacity. There was no real sign of what had just occurred in the obvious tells, except a slight blur on the front of the Asset's shirt where something used to be.

Philip couldn't stop looking at that patch and felt himself reacting again. He blinked hard again, willing it away, then forced himself to look somewhere else.

"Did you like the court?" he found himself saying to Penny.

"Okayyyy," Penny said, and his eyes slid back to her and knew that she was thinking of the cockroach.

"You want to go back?"

The Asset looked up at him briefly. Philip had packed a lunch for the afternoon.

"Mm," Penny said, and so they would. Philip avoided touching the Asset as they exited the bathroom; he didn't think he would be able to control himself.

As the car pulled back into Woodbury, the watchers opened the gates. They peered in, seeking an explanation; Philip already had the window rolled down for that very reason.

"Plenty of food over there. We brought back what we could, but a foraging team would be able to bring back much more." He waved to Milton, who was out on the sunny streets, who waved hesitantly back.

"You didn't happen to find any medical supplies, did you?" Milton asked when they had parked and were getting out. He was braver than he seemed, Milton, and Philip had yet to figure out whether it was courage or ignorance.

"Not yet," Philip said, placing his hand companionably on Milton's back. "I'll have Merle keep a close eye out the moment he steps foot outside."

Milton peered over at Penny who was getting out of the car, then nodded like a pecking bird. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Philip said, sending him away with a forceful pat on the back.

 

-

 

They held another ring of fire that night. Philip realised mid-preparation that they would need a stock of biters for this form of entertainment, that would be ready for action at any time.

He brought Martinez in on it - the first formal invitation to his place of residence since they had moved in - along with Merle, of course, and they fit around the table in Philip's living room just fine.

"There needs to be some kind of trap. Like fly paper, you know?"

"I getcha," Martinez said. He had brought a pen and paper, of course. "Somewhere we can pick 'em up, bring 'em here without catching 'em."

"You got it," Philip said with a toothed smile. He tapped his index finger against the table.

"How 'bout a pit?" Merle said, and they both looked at him. He shrugged. "Yuh can catch a deer with a pit - why ain't it so hard to think of biters?"

Philip looked to Martinez, who was thinking and nodding. "Think Merle there might be onto somethin'." He drew a little doodle on his paper.

They were silent for a while, until Philip spoke.

"They need a reason to fall," he said. He raised his hands. "Otherwise we'll have one or two each day, but not enough."

"What they attracted to - heat?"

"Light, noise, blood," Philip completed. "See what you can find out there."

Merle gave him a mock salute. "Yes boss."

They left, Martinez taking his paper with him, and Philip watched them go, through the street window, for a moment.

He planned to bring Penny with him this time, not have her turn up with the friend of a friend. She was his to bring.

He found her playing with the puppies an hour later. The Asset was not due back from his biter-gathering for a while.

"You like them?" Philip said, squatting down in the room.

"Mhm," Penny said, petting the pup closest to her. "This one's named Charlie."

"Charlie," Philip repeated, and looked at it for a second. It was black with white legs and a white tail tip, and it had its little teeth chewing on Penny's hand.

"Do you want to keep it?" he asked her, after a moment.

She looked at him, her eyes shining. She clutched the puppy to her chest. "YES!" she said. It seemed only to bite harder, unfazed.

Philip's face softened. "Okay then." He put out his hand and Charlie latched on.

 

-

 

This ring started off pretty similar to the one the night before. Main difference being, everyone in Woodbury showed up.

Philip announced the beginning as always, but then he handed off the mic to Merle who did his job and amped up the crowd just with his voice and his excitement. You almost couldn’t avoid the pull, what with the music blaring Nine Inch Nails and Merle strutting his stuff in the ring.

Philip was proud of him. It was rare that someone surpassed his expectations, but he could recognise it when it happened. He grinned when Merle invited him into the circle, holding up a hand and declining as the crowd bit at his heels.

“Then whoooo’s got balls? Who’ll FIGHT?”

Merle’s gaze met Gemma’s where she was seated in the very front row. He bent at the knee and reached his hand out, turning his palm up to the sky as he beckoned. “Rematch, little lady?”

The audience screamed. They wanted her to do it. They wanted her to fight. Philip joined in with the clapping and the whoops as she stood up, throwing Merle some strong words of her own as she rolled up her sleeves and stepped into the circle.

They had rehearsed it better this time. There was still the odd punch that hit too hard, or a stumble that turned into a fall, but Philip was pleased to see that they were both following the rules. He had, apparently, formed his own theatrical cast.

When Merle had Gemma’s arms pinned behind her back and his knee across them both, he raised his right arm in the air and cheered. The crowd went wild, half of them getting to their feet. Philip turned and smiled at Penny, who was sat at the end of the aisle nearest him.

Merle wasn’t really asking the crowd. He let them have their crow, then his attention turned towards Philip. “Let’s ask our Governor!” he shouted. Philip watched him back. “Should this little lady live?”

The crowd went very quiet, quieter than if anyone had an objection.

Philip waited a moment, like he was considering. At last, he broke into a smile and said: “Oh, let her up. She knows she’s beat.”

The audience seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, and Merle got up off of Gemma’s back, but as soon as Gemma could get her feet under her she swung around and kicked his legs out from under him. Philip burst out laughing, watching Merle reach up only to encounter his opponent sat square on his chest.

“We have a winner!”

His crowd went nuts, as they should do, and Merle grinned toothily up at Gemma. If Philip didn’t know any better, he’d say the girl had just gotten herself an admirer.

The Asset was up next, along with this evening’s host of biters, and Philip nodded to Merle as he exited the ring. As soon as Martinez could walk, Philip would put him on biter duty too, but Merle seemed just fine handling them for now.

As before, the lights dimmed, then switched off completely. This time, however, Philip had planned some extra displays. Milton was at the controls, looking very nervous to be this side of the stands, but like Merle, he knew what he had to do.

They waited longer than they had the night before. Philip could feel the crowd grow unsettled with anticipation. They didn’t like waiting in the dark, especially with biters around.

Philip left it until some began to stir, then nodded.

The Asset emerged.

He fought biters again and again. He stabbed them, he punched holes in them, he erased them. Philip stood, quiet and still, and watched.

Milton’s lighting effects lit up the scene in a series of eerie yellow flashes. They brought the Asset into sharp focus, then doused him in a dull black. Blood splattered the floor and flicked all the way up his metal arm.

Philip wanted to join him in there. It felt like the way that darkness had in the basement, when the two of them had been in there all alone (but not really alone). There was a stench of death in the air and the sloshing sounds of walking rot. People watching only intensified his desire to walk in.

He couldn’t, though. He couldn’t. 

Instead, he watched the Asset work.

 

-

 

It was like watching a dancer. The whole crowd knew.

Whether the fight was between two people or a matter of life and death, the ring was on fire with more than just buckets of flame. The Asset attracted them. He pulled them in, with nothing more than skill and ingrained practise.

They all wanted him, or they wanted to be like him. How could they have thought anything else, watching him now? How could their attention be swayed by other things? He was a god, drawing them in. He was a spectre, something they knew almost nothing about, but could see right here: at his best.

Philip started clapping before the fight was over, and the audience joined in. They clapped along to the beat of the music, then louder, faster, until the Asset was facing off against the final biter within the roar of voices and applause.

“KILL IT!” Philip heard.

As if knowing the gravity of his performance, the Asset took his time, letting the biter crawl all the way up to him on its last remaining limb. Then he dived -- the audience gasped -- and crushed it in his hands.

The crowd went wild. Philip almost couldn’t believe it. He strode towards the Asset and ran an arm over his shoulders, bringing him back to his feet. They faced the crowd. 

“YOUR WINNER,” Philip said, over the roar. “YOUR FIGHTER. YOURRRRRR WOODBURY.”

They went nuts. They couldn’t get enough. Philip had the Asset bow, then, when the applause began to die down, he took him out of the ring. He couldn’t keep his hands off him.

It wasn’t even really sexual, this time. It was born from the joy of glory and success. Philip ran his fingers through the Asset’s hair with the arm still hooked over the man’s shoulders, nudging them together. “They loved you,” he was saying. “They thought you were great.”

The Asset didn’t answer, but Philip felt that he might just be a little pleased. After all, it wasn’t every day that you had a whole town gunning for you.

“Let’s head back,” Philip said, then: “Hold on, I’ve gotta find Merle.”

He slid away from the Asset, who was probably following him anyway, and headed back into the dispersing crowd. Merle was sitting on a bench, nursing his wounds and in the middle of some kind of a conversation with Gemma.

“Never say a woman can’t fight!” Philip said as he reached them.

Gemma turned, beaming at him. She held up her index winger and pointed it at Merle. “I was just sayin’, he shoulda know better than to challenge me after that first assbeatin’ I gave him.”

Merle grinned a toothy grin. “Just can’t get enough, sweetheart.”

“Don’t push it.”

“That was a lot of biters there,” Philip said, sidling into the conversation.

“Pretty sweet haul,” Merle said, nonplussed. He spoke to Gemma. “They’re like fish. Pile ‘em up end to end, they don’t take one bite outuv each other.”

“’Til you open the door,” she said, making Philip smile.

“Ahhhh,” Merle said. “You ain’t seen my biter tool.”

Gemma and Philip exchanged a look as Merle bent backwards, reaching into the row of seats behind him to fetch some kind of pole.

He brought it forward, bracing it on his right arm and making the pincers at the end twitch and twitch. Philip examined it with interest. “Thisere’s what my old man used t’call ol’ grabby hands. She can pick yuh a dog and bring it all the way into the ring without it bitin’ ya - see?”

The pole was about five feet in length and made of solid metal. It was easy to see that whatever was trapped in the pincer hold wouldn’t be able to reach its captor, whether or not it had arms. “Grab a couple of biters round the neck, they can’t move anywhere except forward.”

“Where’d you find it?” Philip asked, holding out his hands for the pole.

Merle gave it to him. “Back of the van,” he said. “Best place to look.”

Philip gave it a few tester pinches, getting a feel for how easy it was to handle. “See if you can find more of these,” he said; Merle nodded.

“Anyhow,” Gemma said, cutting back in. “It’s gettin’ late and I better take Ben back.”

“Yeah,” Philip said, with a smile. “Boy needs his mother.”

“He ain’t mine,” she said, rather abruptly. Neither Merle nor Philip knew quite what to say to that, so Philip filled in. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “We’re all family now.”

He turned, looking for Penny so that they could all go home. The Asset was no longer at his side. Probably they were both together, bedding down for the long night already.

He gave Merle a nod and walked the rest of the way back with Gemma, instructing Ben to give her a good night’s sleep after her efforts. The boy looked like he was ready to drop off before they even got in the door, but that was what it was like to be young.

“See yuh,” Philip said, when he dropped them off, and started on the short walk home.

It was almost-- nice, being a part of a community again. They were smaller than the city and nicer than the towns Philip had been in over the years. Probably he was smaller and nicer too; better suited for life like this.

He had had only problems with neighbours before now, but these ones - he felt like he knew them all, and even the ones he didn’t quite know well enough, he felt comfortable with. They were predictable. Old.

Back when his da had had him selling used cars out of the lot, Philip had had a lot of time to think. He’d been in the middle of nowhere, on the side of a road that went from someplace to somewhere, and he’d never had the chance to find out what lay at either end.

Meeting Ella had been different. He’d been on his second drink at a bar with a haze of smoke and a dartboard set up in the corner. It was better than your usual fare, but not by much. Ella had come in, sister in tow, full of out-ot-town and bursting with youth. Philip had sat up and waited.

It seemed a long, long time ago now. He had neighbours, now, and- friends. He had a community to govern-- that was the name Merle had used, wasn’t it? Their governor? It had a nice little ring to it; Philip wasn’t pretending to be the new world president or anything, but he could be the leader of this part of Georgia. Hadn’t Sonny Perdue come from some tiny corner of the state?

He took off his coat as he came in and dropped it on the couch. It was still dark inside in the evenings, but he was growing to appreciate it. Soon they’d all have electricity and he’d be past this time, anyway.

Philip lit a candle with the matchbox sat where it always was, then peeked in the side room at the puppies. They were all wrapped in a pile on the dog bed. Fat, grey little faces squinted out at him.

He closed the door quietly and made his way over to Penny’s room. It had been a long day, a long two months, and an even longer apocalypse. She was due some sleep - him too - but he wanted to see her. He could picture her soft breathing, the way she always rolled up the covers while she slept. It hadn’t been long ago at all that she had slept in Philip’s bed, kicking at his back through her dreams.

He raised the candle and pushed the door open.

Penny Blake was not in her bed.


	13. Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The vilest deeds like poison weeds_   
>  _Bloom well in prison-air:_   
>  _It is only what is good in Man_   
>  _That wastes and withers there:_   
>  _Pale Anguish keeps the heavy gate,_   
>  _And the Warder is Despair_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> \- Oscar Wilde, The Ballad Of Reading Gaol

He burned the body. He built a pyre while all the channels blared alarms, while a newscaster spoke rapidly into the camera in a way that said there was no teleprompter.

He used kindling from the woodshed. He dug a splinter from his thumb and saw streaks of red split across the puncture, running into the smears that had belonged to Ella.

She had come at him, eyes rolling, mouth wide in a grimace. She made rough noises that confused him: that had been the strangest part. It wasn’t horrific, the resurrection. It was just odd. She had never looked like that in real life, not once.

Something about it brought to mind their single vacation. Philip had saved for over a year, working shifts, because they had already sold the car business to buy their own place. They went to Florida, before Penny was born, and she had slept tousled on the bed like she couldn’t get comfortable.

When they woke the next day, it had been four in the afternoon.

Hard to relax. Hard to switch off. Then when you did, you overdosed.

She was better than him; she always had been. Higher ambitions - which was saying something - higher class, high expectations. She had glided around their barely-bought house in her dresses like the ghost of a queen who used to live there. 

Philip hadn’t deserved her. He never had. And here he was, about to burn her.

She caught him around the arm, snapping her jaws and digging her fingers into his flesh. He stared and stared, and then he shoved her back again.

This time there was no rail to go over. Ella stumbled, but staggered back towards him, groping for his skin.

“Ella,” he muttered, as she fell on him. “Ella.” He was crying, he realised. His face was wet. His mouth touched her.

She was dead. She was dead. Yet somehow, she was back on her feet and in his arms again. He had forgotten how much he had missed the feel of her; it had been that long.

He wrapped his hands around her shoulders and held her away from him. All he could see from here were her eyes.

They were red around the edges, just as red as the blood in her hair. 

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She went limp in his arms when he cut off her air, and his throat burned when she didn’t die. He dropped her; he threw her down. She clawed for him. She wouldn’t let him go.

He fought her away and ran back inside the house, barely breathing through his sobs. He found the revolver where it always was, where it had been waiting to be fired for years.

The blast scared birds out of the trees. The newscaster rattled on and on. Philip looked down at Ella for a very long time, then turned around and went back in.

 

-

 

Penny was not in her bed. She wasn’t in his, either.

He opened the door to the puppy room and something about it made him stay, staring in there. They had rescued eight puppies - in here were only seven.

Where was the other one?

He stepped in, counting them one by one. The missing dog - it was the one Penny had picked out earlier, the one she had chosen - what had she called it? Charlie, that was it.

“Charlie,” he called softly into the darkness.

The puppies wriggled on their bed and stared up at him.

Philip backed out of the room and closed the door.

He ended up half-jogging back to Gemma’s house, his coat kicking out behind him. His revolver swung on his hip; he hadn’t wanted to bring it, but part of him clearly had. Mostly he just wanted to be proven overanxious - an overprotective dad. 

Gemma slowly cracked open her door, then saw him and opened it further. “I’m sorry,” she said, with a yawn. “Habit.”

Philip said nothing, only stood with his hands in his coat pockets, hiding the gun. He tried his best to control his breathing; he had run faster than he had intended to get here.

“Penny,” he said, eventually. “My daughter. Did she come home with you?”

Gemma looked confused, then her eyes met his. “No,” she said. Her eyebrows drew together. “Philip-?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Philip cut her off, with a smile. He was still breathing too hard. “My friend-” The Asset. “Is with her. There’s no way she could come to any harm. Probably just gone to get some food.”

He was already backing off, ducking away. “Just wanted to check they hadn’t snuck over here.”

He knew she was probably still concerned. He really, really didn’t want her to be. 

“Oh-kay,” Gemma said, like she didn’t want to end it there. When Philip didn’t answer, she put a hand on the door. “You just let me know if you need me, alright?”

“I will,” Philip said, and he kept the smile on his face until she closed the door. Then it dropped, all the way down to the sidewalk.

He stepped away from the house. He didn’t want to shout, he didn’t want to scream Penny’s name. He wanted it all to be silent, to be helped by nobody. He didn’t know where to start and so he closed his eyes, waiting for his breathing to steady, as he emptied his mind of the whirring noise it had become.

The ring. That was where he should start.

 

-

 

They had left the bodies in the centre. He would have to see to that, later.

Maybe it would do to string a few of them up over here, to-- to inspire people, or maybe that wasn’t right at all. Probably they should just get rid of them until next time, when he might be able to bring them out, might be able to do something with them-

The circle stank. The stands were empty. Darkness didn’t frighten Philip; he could hear just as well as see, couldn’t he? His eyes could still adjust and pick out subtle differences in light, he could feel the changes in the air, the ground underfoot.

He didn’t need sight to tell him that Penny wasn’t here.

“Asset,” he said, into the darkness.

It hadn’t failed to summon him yet. Philip wondered whether it would tonight.

He waited, listening to the world around him. Nothing stirred, nothing came towards him. So, it could fail.

Philip left - what else could he do? He dragged his feet, or walked with purpose, he couldn’t tell you what he was doing. His path took him, not towards his own house, but around the town in such a way that seemed systematic and logical.

His eyes roved the sidewalks, the alleyways, the shadows. His feet moved him on, on, on.

Why he found himself at the warehouse, he didn’t know.

“Asset,” he repeated, as he opened the door, and stepped inside, picking up the flashlight he had left beside the entrance.

He needed it here. Inside, it was almost black.

Philip took a deep breath, shined the light on the walls and headed in.

As far as he could tell, it was still abandoned. When he reached the first of the doors on his left, he pushed it open and peered in to find: nothing. Just the same old rundown building he had found a few days ago.

He pulled the door closed behind him and headed onward. A bloody smear ran along the floor, unnoticed beneath his feet.

“Are you here?” he asked, half to himself, in the dark.

He wasn’t afraid. Part of him had been, back when he’d had that first hint of panic: that sudden instinct that something was very wrong. Now, though, that had gone. He wasn’t quite sure when it had vanished, but it had left behind a different kind of feeling. Some kind of confidence. A low, base sort of courage.

Philip opened the second door and found nothing.

One of the things he had never liked about old Jack of the Overlook was the... theatre of it all. The hotel could live and breathe - that was expected - but the man it consumed had been too dramatic with his addiction. He had screamed and roared at his family even before he attacked them.

Maybe it had made sense to Jack Torrance. Maybe it just made good reading.

Philip, here, understood the value of silence. It lent a certain kind of control.

That growing feeling with its tendrils deep in his chest was not fury, or anger waiting to burst out. It was making a home for itself. It was his own kind of control. Watch this step, Jack Torrance.

He closed the second door.

He had to turn left again to reach the biggest room, and this time he didn’t miss the bloody smear drying on the wall. 

He shone his flashlight at it for a while. Then he turned his head and chuckled, and carried on.

The final door had a bar across the front of it. It was big, wooden; looked like it had stood in this place for fifty years or more. Philip ran his hand over the hinges - just beginning to rust - as he lifted the bar. 

The room was very dark. Nothing jumped out at him, nothing caused his courage to falter. When he shined his flashlight on the figure sitting on the floor, his heart-rate picked up, but he didn’t worry.

It wasn’t fear, or fright. It might have been excitement.

Stepping into the room and letting the door swing closed behind him, Philip moved closer to the person. Black hair hung over their eyes and their gaze was cast down on the floor. The Asset had both of his hands held palm-up, almost in supplication, on his knees. He looked as if he’d been that way for a while.

“Look at me,” Philip murmured, holding the light steady on the Asset’s face.

He did, slowly, and Philip saw that the blood on his face was fresh. Philip stepped closer, tilting his head. “What have you done?” he mused.

The Asset did not answer, and Philip had not really been asking him. He came closer to the Asset and bent down, tucking his index finger beneath the Asset’s chin and tilting it up. Was it his blood, or another’s?

There was something strange about the Asset’s expression. After a fight, the soldier’s body would usually be neutral, or at most out of breath. His expression never really changed, even if the subtle language of it spoke every now and then. But here---

Here- Philip curled his fingers beneath the Asset’s jaw and curved his thumb up to the cheekbone. A wetness that wasn’t blood leaked onto his skin. The Asset was crying.

“What are you doing down here?” Philip asked, and this time it was more of a question.

The Asset swallowed, peering up at him. “Waiting,” he said.

“For me?” Philip asked.

“For-” He cut off, as if momentarily strangled. A few breaths later and it seemed he would never be able to answer, but then he did: “Punishment.”

Philip knelt down: a slow, steady manoeuvre. “And why would I punish you?” he asked, rubbing his thumb in small circles over the red blood stained into the Asset’s skin. His other hand fluttered over his own hip, where he was wearing his gun.

The Asset said: “Because I have failed.”

 

 

 _With sudden shock the prison-clock_  
_Smote on the shivering air,_  
 _And from all the gaol rose up a wail_  
 _Of impotent despair,_  
 _Like the sound that frightened marshes hear_  
 _From a leper in his lair._

 

 

She was in the woods just on the outskirts of town, tied like game to a tree.

All of the bravado - the courage and the blood - left Philip behind when he saw her. She was dirty, the way kids get dirty after playing in mud, or running around while it rains. Her dress was ripped at the seams.

He dove forward, reaching for her tiny hands that reached for him also. He closed his fingers over them and realised how small they were.

Penny looked up at him with eyes full of mist. She snapped and chattered, her chapped lip curling over her teeth. She was his. She was only his.

“Pen,” he said, although that wasn’t quite right, and “Sweetie,” though that wasn’t either. Her hands pulled and fought in his, trying to get away.

“You won’t run, will you?” Philip said, kneeling down and opening one of his hands to reach for her face. She grabbed his palm with one small fist as he brushed an errant hair over her ear.

When he pulled his hand back, her grip stayed.

“You know me,” he said, and then: “Philip,” he said. “Uncle Phil.”

She looked at him, her chin dirty with blood and her fingers gripped tightly to his. She didn’t answer, just drooled, and eventually looked away.

Philip brought their hands back, and pressed his mouth to her fist so hard that her skin turned white. He closed his eyes, begging somewhere - though he knew not where.  _In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit-_

He bowed his head and touched the indents of her knuckles. He took his knife and stood, cutting the rope that tied her to the tree.

“Come back with me, Penny,” he said in a light voice, tugging on her rope. “Come to town.”

She followed him into Woodbury, trailed by the Asset, making snarls so soft that they were barely audible.

 

-

 

Philip hammered a metal coil into the room just off from the living room, so that Penny could watch him work. He was going to do what he should have started the moment they moved in here: he was going to make her a proper room.

The seven remaining puppies sat very quietly on their bed in the far corner.

He started with the floor.

Up came the newspaper, down went disinfectant. He brought up the spare furniture that had been taking up space downstairs and pushed it into the room: an armchair, a desk, a long oak cabinet.

There were tanks - old, dusty, but serviceable - fish tanks, that must’ve belonged to an aquatic enthusiast before, cluttering up the basement. Philip hauled some of them up into Penny’s room, so that he could have a look at them in that space. It turned out they fitted perfectly on the oak cabinet: a whole line of them all the way along the wall.

Maybe there’d be some fish in the river downstream. Give her some companions.

When Philip was done, he waved to Penny and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Within the bedroom that used to be hers, another metal hook was fixed to the walls.

Philip didn’t acknowledge the man as he walked in. As far as he was concerned, the title they had given him served no purpose anymore.

There was no longer any furniture in the room: no bed, no candles, nothing but a single chair. Philip picked it up by the back and dragged it forward until it was facing the prisoner.

He sat down, looking straight forward. He wasn’t making eye contact, exactly, his eyes seemed more to be looking intently  _into_  the skull of the man. He took his time before he said anything, not because he needed to collect himself, but because he wanted the man to hear him very clearly.

“I want you to think about what you’ve done,” he said.

The -  _failure_ \- man would not meet his eyes. Where Philip’s gaze bore into his head, the man only watched the floor with a present sort of listlessness. Blood dripped down from his lip, hitting the wooden floor.

“Do you remember what I told you when you first started here?”

The man’s metal arm lay limp at his side. It had earth all over the fingers, and something darker than earth mixed in.

_“You’re her protector.”_

Philip leaned in. “The first, and only thing you are, is that.”

If it was possible, the man on the floor became even smaller. He shrank inwards in a way that wasn’t physically obvious, but gave the overall impression of a rabbit shrinking down into the grass.

Philip stayed there for a moment longer, then leaned back, lifting his hands palm-up in the air. “What are you to me without that function?”

He wondered if the man would answer. In all honesty, he doubted it. Whatever the man had gone through, whether it had been extensive training or some kind of lifelong conditioning, it had instilled a desire to please authority so great that seemed to surpass all else.

Philip wondered what that must feel like:  to disappoint everyone.

His hands set down slowly on his knees.

 

-

 

When Penny came downstairs, it was late morning, and by then the sun was up and the sky was beginning to smell like ash.

His was not the only plot of land with smoke churning from it. There were more clouds further within the city - from looting, maybe. Fires that nobody had the resources to put out, when every resource seemed to be reaching for a solution to the disease.

“Heyyyy,” Philip said, as he caught sight of his girl from where he stood looking out at the pyre. He opened his arms and took a step towards her, and she ran the last few yards to hug his nearest leg.

Philip knelt down with her and ruffled her hair, leaving his hand on her head as they both gazed upon the remnants of their lives. Fire and brimstone and ash and all.

He didn’t think she knew that pyre was Ella. If she did, she was hiding it well.

“What’s going on, daddy?” she whispered.

Philip took a moment. He held her closer to him for a second, then stretched his arm around her shoulders and looked forward again. “World’s dead,” he said. “People are gettin’ sick and going crazy.”

Penny’s eyes widened. Philip let her process it on her own.

After a pause, Penny said: “Where’s mommy?”

Philip’s cheek twitched, like he’d tasted something sour. “She ain’t here, honey.”

He was going to leave it at that, or come up with the same old stories parents have been telling kids since time began, but then he took a good long look at her: something he did rarely. He didn’t usually like to absorb the full pelt of things, it made him unsteady. Pushed him off-balance.

In that moment, he made a decision. Sweeping a wheaten-blonde hair out of Penny’s eyes, he gazed into them, and Penny gazed back. Kids were good at knowing things that way.

“You wanna go find her?” Philip asked.

Penny’s eyes filled up gently with tears. She closed them tightly, then nodded very rapidly, with her hands balled up into fists and her nose bright red.

“Come on then,” Philip said, and took her hand as it uncurled. They headed back into the house and walked out an hour later, neither knowing they had left it for good.

 

-

 

“That’s who you killed,” Philip said, his fingers pulling wrinkles in the fabric on his pants. “My little girl.”

The other man just sat there in silence. He could almost have been dead.

Philip slammed his hand down on the chair. “ANSWER ME!”

The man cringed ever so slightly, then eventually eked out a “Sir.”

“No,” Philip said, turning away. “Not that anymore. Not sir. My name is Philip Blake and you have no master.”

The Asset lowered his head and sank down onto the floor.


	14. Feed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And all the woe that moved him so_   
>  _That he gave that bitter cry,_   
>  _And the wild regrets, and the bloody sweats,_   
>  _None knew so well as I:_   
>  _For he who lives more lives than one_   
>  _More deaths than one must die._
> 
> \- Oscar Wilde, The Ballad Of Reading Gaol

Philip didn’t leave his house for four days.

His body stayed rooted to the chair at his desk, alternately drinking and thinking. Mostly both at the same time.

He was silent for a long time, but on the third day he spoke.

\--or was it some kind of dry mutter? The tail-end of a chuckle?

In the other rooms, Penny’s chain rattled, and the prisoner lifted his head. Philip sat for several more minutes without further comment, then set his glass down and reached for the journal on his desk.

He turned a page, past the last note he had written, then raised his pen and scratched three vertical lines into the margin. Each was equal distance from the other and of the same length. They fit into the ruled margins of the book and left space for plenty more.

Philip would have to keep several pages free ahead of time. 

During his absence, the town had continued to function as well as could be expected - he didn’t need to leave to know that. No one had sounded the alarm or caused a fire. Apart from too many knocks at his door on the first and second day, the town had been as quiet as could be, and Philip was enjoying it.

Still, everyone had to carry on sometime.

It was Merle, finally, who showed up later that day. It was the first time Philip had answered his door to anyone and Merle looked appropriately surprised when he opened it on the second knock.

The guy grunted. “Thought you wanted out.”

Philip flashed him a smile that didn’t do anything to meet his empty eyes. “Woodbury needs me,” he said, closing the door behind Merle and leading him in. “When it no longer requires a leader, I’ll retire.”

Merle made a whistling noise through his teeth. “Youuuu let me know.” He paused for a moment, and Philip missed his expression by glancing over a little too late. “Ent no reason to... letem panic. They get-” He waved a hand around. “Feisty.”

Philip sat down and spied Merle looking at him as he rubbed his hands over his face. “Tell’em I’ll be out by tomorrow. We’ll hold the funeral then. Oh, and see if there’s someone who knows the right words to say in town. A priest, maybe.”

“I’ll see what I can find.”

Finally, Merle took a seat opposite Philip. “Besides panickin’, the people want more than a bite. They want the water system complete, more guards on the walls, proper electricity like you said.”

Philip was about to dismiss him with an “I’ll see to it,” but then he changed his mind and turned towards the folder of papers Merle was holding out. “Let me see.”

Merle handed the folder over and Philip laid it out on his lap, flicking through it.

The people of Woodbury had listed, through the proxy of Merle - which, he was sure, had not been easy - everything that they wanted. Infrastructure, essentially. Something that he’d promised them.

Philip was not about to let that promise rot.

He spent the better part of the afternoon talking it over with Merle and figuring out who would do what. They drew up profiles for all of the residents of the town, assigning positions and potential responsibilities based on their attributes. Philip was somewhat aghast he hadn’t done it before.

The ring-bound notebook gnawed away at him, in the back of his mind.

When they’d finished and packed it all away, Philip held up a hand for Merle to stay. He got to his feet and stood tall for the first time that week, looking Merle in the eye.

Even though he hadn’t said a thing, Merle shifted, as if he was able to tell just from the circumstance exactly what Philip was communicating.

“Meet me tomorrow morning at the ring,” Philip said, after a beat. “I’ll announce the changes then.”

“You want me for anything else, boss?” Merle asked.

Philip stared him for a moment, caught slightly off-guard. In that pause, he was reminded why he had picked out Merle in the first place. Why, out of all of them, Merle had connected with him the strongest.

“Nah,” he said, unable to stop a slow smile from stealing across his face. “I think you understand me just fine.”

 

-

 

In the space between when Merle left and when morning came, Philip went into the prisoner’s room to change something.

He was sort of - running on auto-pilot - not very in control of his movements. Philip the body came and went throughout the house; Philip the man watched this happen from a far-off place in the back of his mind.

There was so much that he  _could_  ignore, if he really wanted to. The absence of Penny from the house was very common: most days she had been out around Woodbury, spending time with her friends and with her protector following her along like a dog. 

The silence in the house (though not so silent, if he listened very hard) was easy to explain away too - the Asset had never been there either, or, if he was, he was unobtrusive. Invisible. Philip had never been as close to the two other occupants in Woodbury as he had been in Atlanta. The lack of a prison keeping them in the same building had stretched the little family at the seams, spreading them out, preventing them from strengthening their ties to one another.

Philip had been feeling the change ever since they found the town. It had been fun at first - new people were always fun, what with what they found exciting or interesting or scary. He enjoyed meeting new people. It was always a good experience.

However, at some point, the line between group and family had blurred. Philip was no longer looking at these people as if they were a collective gathered together by him. Slowly and with great subtlety, they had become, in a sense, family.

It changed things. It altered the way Philip worked. He didn’t like it at all.

He had fallen from a father, a leader, into a member of the gang. Although his authority was upheld and, to a degree, respected, he still felt the current of the group swell around him. It bypassed his command. In Woodbury, he was just one of the crowd.

To the Asset, to  _Penny,_  he had been everything.

This is what building Woodbury had done to him: it had broken his unit apart. The sacrificial lamb for the greater good.

Was the Asset - whatever he was now - was he all Philip really had left?

He entered the room quietly, shutting the door behind him as he stepped forward.

“Prisoner,” he said, eventually.

The man looked up, meeting his eyes for the briefest of seconds before they dropped to rest blandly on his cheeks. “Yes,” he said, simply.

“What did they call you, where you were before?”

“Soldier,” the prisoner said. It fell from his mouth like a dull weight.

Philip shifted, trying to find the words. “What did they call you, before that?”

The prisoner’s eyes remained fixed on some unfocused point in the distance. Philip couldn’t tell whether he was remembering, disintegrating, or destroying himself ten thousand miles away from here.

“What was your  _name?”_

The prisoner gently came back into existence. “I don’t know,” he said.

Philip watched him without really watching him. He wasn’t trying to figure the man out; he wasn’t trying to outsmart him; he wasn’t even  _trying_. In that moment, he felt as tired as the prisoner looked.

He moved forward and missed the very slight cringe away from him, as he turned and sat next to the prisoner with his back against the wall.

“I’m not going to talk,” he said, then exhaled and leaned back.

They sat like that in silence for a while.

When Philip raised a hand, tracing the line of metal onto muscle, it was not with any mall intent. There was nothing more than tiredness, and curiosity, and a severe lack of serendipity. Philip had had that yawning chasm of desire ever since he could remember.

It had started off small, as all things do when people are young. Then it grew, until it could no longer be satisfied by tasks, by goals, by people.

His dreams devoured themselves. It was inevitable. He was a walking black hole.

For some time now, even though he had not known it, some part of that chasm had been filled by the three-unit family he had created. That he had maintained.

His fingers brushed the fall of the muscle on the prisoner’s shoulder, where what little of his shoulder was made up of skin met the back of his neck, but Philip only paused there. His touch made its way gently - just the barest of fingertips - up the prisoner’s neck, along his jaw, until Philip was sliding his hand into the prisoner’s hair and exhaling.

The prisoner didn’t move; didn’t even react. Philip thought he might be scared - maybe even too terrified to move at all. He leaned forward, saw the prisoner begin to drift away, and stopped.

So, instead of moving forward, he brought the prisoner to him.

He gently guided him sideways with the hand that was still in the prisoner’s hair, until the man was flush against him. Then Philip tilted his head down and kissed the man on the temple, moving stray hairs out of the way.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, with his lips just above the prisoner’s skin.

There was no fighting, no pulling away, no hint of aggression in him. Philip kissed his temple again, then untangled his hand from the man’s hair and drew his hands down the man’s arms until he could hold him, loosely, at his wrists.

Shifting the prisoner until his back was no longer at the wall, Philip guided him gently backwards and down, so that he was lying on the floor.

He loomed over the prisoner, finding space on either side of the man’s hips to put his knees so that he could set those wrists on the ground too: just above the man’s head. 

“How’s that?” he asked, still softly. 

The prisoner nodded his head: a small, shaky manoeuvre. Philip sighed and leaned all the way forward, inadvertently pinning the man’s wrists down as he rested his weight on them.

He nuzzled into the collar of the man’s t-shirt - the one Philip had put on him once they had gotten back from the warehouse, because the one the Asset had been wearing had been soaked through with blood. The shirt was dry, clean, and it smelled faintly of the man beneath him.

Philip trailed his nose up the man’s neck, only pausing to press his mouth to the bone of the man’s jaw, before brushing over the prisoner’s lips. It was so close, so close to real contact, and that chasm seemed to yawn ever wider as their chests touched together.

He realised in that moment: he wanted him.

He took the Asset up from the floor - hoisting his flesh arm over his shoulder like a puppet dangling by the strings. He unlocked the chains holding his prisoner to the metal bar in the wall.

They made their ungainly way along the house until they reached Philip’s room.

There was no real rhyme or reason to it: Philip just placed him down on the bed, watching the sheets pool out beneath him. He looked down at the Asset’s t-shirt and took it off of him.

He saw the Asset begin to move, like a comatose patient finally waking. He saw the beginnings of a mouth opening, trying to find the way back to words.

Philip knelt down at the bottom of the bed and pushed on the hollow of the Asset’s armpits - one skin, one metal. The Asset took the order and moved, shifting himself further up the bed until his head found the pillows.

Philip stood up; shed clothes. He watched the man before him lie with his arms outstretched like a bird that had fallen out of the sky.

“I killed my wife,” he said.

The Asset just looked back at him, those wide blue eyes locked on.

“She was going to kill me,” Philip said, as he began to move, kneeling down onto the bed. He planted one hand in the streets - “She turned.” - then the other. “Soon as she saw me, she wanted my blood.”

When the Asset continued his silence, Philip placed one fingertip on the Asset’s lips. “Speak,” he said, softly.

The Asset stared at him, then swallowed. “What should I say?” he got out, eventually.

“Why you’re here,” Philip said. “Who you lost.”

The Asset’s eyes left him to roam down Philip’s chest; into the dark wrinkles of the bedsheets; onto the greying wallpaper. The metal arm at his side suddenly made a whirring noise and, glancing over, Philip saw some of the metal plates shuffle around.

Looking back, about to ask him what it had meant, Philip caught sight of the rarity he had only witnessed once before: on that fateful night. Those big, brilliant eyes were being swallowed up by water. The Asset had a look on his face that seemed like a cross between panic and utter despair.

Philip leaned down, pressing his mouth to one eye at a time - each fluttered closed at the touch. Salt water leaked out from the Asset’s tear ducts and wetted his lips. 

“You feel so much,” he murmured against the Asset’s skin.

The Asset’s breathing hiked, like a tiny sob. “She was-”

Philip tilted his forehead down until it was pressing against the Asset’s, until it might have hurt a lesser man. The Asset continued, as if the pressure comforted him. As if it steadied him.

“She was your  _daughter,_ ” he said.

“Not mine,” Philip said, and turned the Asset over, so that the man was on top of him.

The Asset just lay there, plaintive, like he had no energy in his arms to hold himself up. Instead he relied on Philip to take his weight, like a child.

Philip’s hands found their way to the Asset’s hips and he lifted his own up against them, briefly. Then, his fingertips settled in the edges of the Asset’s pants, coiled in the belt loops.

Their chests were even more flush together here than they had been when Philip loomed over him. There was a certain intimacy that went beyond decency here, in the way the Asset did not seem to care that he was cradled against Philip’s body like something fresh out of the womb.

Philip’s lips touched the side of the Asset’s head, between his ear and his temple, and he pressed a blot of kisses in that spot, wanting and needing the... neediness, but looking for more, and his fingertips stroked tiny circles at the Asset’s hips.

“Why don’t you take these off?” he murmured into the Asset’s ear.

The Asset’s lax limbs stirred into action, his hands reaching down and finding Philip’s fingers, which followed them to the Asset’s zipper and helped him undo, unbutton, unbind. They pushed the pants down and the Asset toed them off, leaving them in a fallen heap off the end of the bed.

Philip grinned into his ear, reaching down to take the Asset’s boxers - two sizes too big, like everything else in the pile of unwanted clothes - in his hand and feel through them, curling his fingers around the length inside them. His hips raised off the bed in tandem, just slightly.

“Have you...” he said, “Ever wanted something, so much-” He squeezed the Asset’s boxers. “That you never want to finally have it?”

The Asset shook his head, fast, like a blast of wings taking off from the ground.

Philip only inhaled the scent of the man’s hair and sighed, reaching around to hook his thumbs into the waistband at the Asset’s back. “You haven’t lived,” he murmured. He pulled the boxers down and the Asset took them off the rest of the way. It was nice. It had always been nice, someone who took orders without him even having to say them.

When they were both naked, Philip grabbed hold of the Asset’s ass and pulled him in tightly. He could feel so much of him that way; they were a hot tangle of limbs and torsos, similar in size but Philip just that little bit taller, with the metal arm cool and smooth against his side.

The Asset noticed him looking at it and the plating on the arm did the same shuffling movement it had earlier, like the metal equivalent of gooseflesh.

Philip shuddered and wrapped his arms around the Asset even further, keeping one hand firmly planted on the Asset’s ass as he brought the other back up and drew two of his own fingers into his mouth, staring at the Asset. 

He curled his tongue around them, coating them in saliva, before sucking on them just a little. Then, he spat into his palm and reached for the Asset’s cock between them, running his hand up and down it to make him wet, make him slippery; make him enjoy it.

The Asset didn’t respond in the traditional way. It seemed like, that night, when they had come away from the ring with their blood up, the Asset had faked it. There had been something completely forced on his face, like he was following a set pattern intended to entertain its audience.

There was nothing intentional or simulated about the Asset’s reaction tonight. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and this way Philip could see behind that veneer. He could wipe away the pattern someone else had written and write his own on that willing, wonderful frame.

As Philip drew him to life, the Asset went from almost depressingly soft to hard enough to make Philip’s hair stand on end. He chewed marks up and down the Asset’s neck and jawline, finding where the prison collar had made indents and making them his own. He didn’t have to look to find the Asset incredibly hot: after all, he had been looking at him since he found him.

Before long, the Asset was making  _himself_  wet, with pre-cum that Philip spread along the Asset’s length without touching his own. That would come later. The Asset lay with his face at Philip’s shoulder, open-mouthed and making slight noises that were mainly just on the edge of each breath.

Philip made great use of that mouth, diving in to wet his fingers once more but not going back to the Asset’s dick. Instead, he used them to push towards another goal, filling and opening and stretching, the heat so hot around his fingers it made him moan.

The Asset noticed his absence and Philip could feel his eyes sliding over to check on him. Even if the Asset didn’t know, Philip could see the difference in the man before him right now and the one that he had found in that warehouse.

He took the Asset by the hips to still him and tilted his head up to meet the Asset’s eyes. Eyes so blue and lips so red with wanting. 

Philip wet his bottom lip and looked right back at him. “I want you to fuck me,” he murmured, unable to stop himself from raising his hips. When the Asset’s cock met his unexpectedly, his breath hitched, and they both watched each other as they slid against each other, their chests rising and falling.

“I’ll take that as a yes-” Philip said, and then their lips met and they were in and out each of other’s mouthes like animals. Philip couldn’t get enough of him and he took the Asset’s jaw tight in one hand to keep him there, pressing hard at either end which would have been enough to bruise a regular man.

Just as suddenly, Philip pushed his mouth away and moved further up the bed, bringing the Asset with him like a biddable dog. He prepped his body further, watching the Asset the whole time as if to show him what he was about to get.

When the Asset reached him, Philip pushed him down. “G’on,” he said. “Go on.”

The Asset bent down, glancing upward quickly to check, then knelt and took Philip’s cock into his mouth. 

It was exactly like he had imagined, only it was better. The Asset seemed to have no gag reflex - or, as he discovered when the edge between mouth and throat switched - seemed to have been trained out of one, regardless of whether he still had one to begin with. Philip rolled his hips experimentally and the Asset followed, doing something incredible that he couldn’t begin to think about. This was what he had wanted.

“Yeahh,” he breathed, his head falling back onto the pillows and his hands fisting in the sheets. When he could collect himself enough to process, he relaxed one hand and reached towards the Asset, threading his fingers through the man’s hair and squeezing experimentally.

Pulling at his hair like this would hurt, but not so much at that level. Philip sank his hand in and gripped properly, following the movements of the Asset’s head and then beginning to guide, then lead- until he was pushing the Asset forward to meet his thrusts, and after a moment, the Asset choked.

Philip held him still for a second, long enough for it to feel like drowning, then loosened his grip and pulled out, letting the Asset cough and spasm on the bed. He ran his tongue over his lip.

When the Asset stopped coughing, his eyes were red. He had a smear on his cheek where Philip’s dick had brushed against him.

“Now,” Philip breathed. He beckoned. “Now.”

The Asset seemed less confident in this area and lined himself up slowly, letting Philip lift his knees back, but when he leaned over Philip’s body and pushed in, Philip felt like if it was even possible, he was getting harder.

His eyelids fluttered and he forced them open, wanting to watch the Asset do the job he had set him. When the Asset paused, clearly about to pull out and take it slow, Philip grabbed him by the ass and drew him back in, until he bottomed out and they were totally one.

It hurt. It always hurt. When Philip took his time - on the rare occasions he did things this way - it hurt less, but it always hurt. It always made him think about how it must hurt the other way around, how the ones squirming beneath him must feel as their insides burned, how their teeth made imprints and they shouted beneath some unimportant fabric.

All in all, Philip thought he made a rather good bottom.

The Asset made a little noise above him and Philip took a better hold on the Asset’s thighs, allowing the man to pull back out again. 

They went on like that for two- three- four strokes, and then Philip got impatient and they sped up, with the Asset thrusting into him like time was running out - but that didn’t work. Over the years - the many years they had been - Philip had discovered that what was seemingly normal sex did not work for him.

It didn’t work when he met some girl out of town and had her at the back of the convenience store. It didn’t work when he paid some two-bit yellow-stained tweaker ten years later. It didn’t even work when he found his wife, though he never let her know. He didn’t think she knew much about sex either (though he was wrong about that, wasn’t he?).

No, the only time it worked - the one time he remembered getting off as a young boy - was when Brian had chased him around the barn with their father’s bull whip. With a couple flicks of that, he had been off like a steam train.

The one time he had asked a hooker, much later on, if she would try whipping him, the girl had taken one look at him and told him, through tobacco leaves, that he was best off findin’ one of those freak joints that get the cops cruisin by every fi’teen minutes.

He knew what he would have done now.

The Asset finally found his prostate and Philip started to enjoy it, started to feel the rush come back, the one he was always seeking. He pulled the Asset down so that they were closer together and pushed back into him, pleased by the sparks it shot off behind his eyes.

He stroked the fall of the Asset’s hair into skin, brushing his thumb across the Asset’s lip, curving his hand around the Asset’s jaw. Then he slid his hand lower and took the man by the neck, pulling him down to his level.

“Bite me,” he said, and the Asset did one of his checking glances before nosing up to Philip’s jaw.

“Not the face,” Philip said, turning away, before he gave the Asset’s throat a warning squeeze. “Bite me.”

All he could feel over his skin was a rush of cool air as the Asset curled back, then picked a spot and pressed his teeth in, very gently.

“Harder,” Philip said, working his thumb and forefinger around the Asset’s windpipe and pressing it.

The Asset needed no further encouragement. His next bite left a bright white mark, surrounded by red. He bit Philip’s nipple and Philip arched. There was no blood, but Philip wanted there to be, and at the final press of the Asset’s windpipe those teeth drew red blood. It felt good.

So absorbed was he with making sure that his directions were followed, Philip didn’t see the Asset watching him. His hand fell away from the Asset’s neck and he missed the sudden sharp glint in the Asset’s gaze.

The Asset’s next thrust was slow. Deliberate. Philip opened one eye to admonish him, but when he did he felt the hand ghosting across his throat. His mouth opened and his eyes widened, and he made a long noise on the next thrust. The Asset only looked at him from above and closed his hand, finding a spot that held Philip’s jaw upward and pressed into his jugular vein.

It felt. S _o. Good._ Philip disappeared into the feeling and felt his breathing labour as the Asset’s palm pushed his windpipe back. Further down, the Asset was still fucking him, but it was a long, lazy fuck. It wasn’t hurried. Philip wondered if this was what it was like for someone tied up and out of it, and he gazed heavy-lidded up at the Asset with something akin to pleasure.

The key was: it hadn’t been the whip. Hadn’t been a fellow boy. It had been something about control and the ultimate form of it. Philip had been so scared he almost pissed himself when Brian caught up at that barn, laughing, and the sight of that bullwhip and the licks it gave him had sent him over the edge into rapture.

He’d found the same fulfilment when he could convince someone it was better to go home with him than stay out drunk all night, or get one of the pretty girls to come back with him with his charm and his looks, then used one of the drugs they’d used on farm animals to keep them just lucid enough to know about it.

Brian didn’t care by then. Brian was out at his own trailer park, knocking up too many girls for his own good.

At least Philip knew about protection.

He drifted under the Asset’s hands. He felt his body begin to tighten, spurred on by points of pain over his torso and the heat further down, but something in him held it off. Some part of him still wanted more.

He swam deeper and in his memory he saw the Asset locked in the room with the collar around his neck and the chains on his arms. He saw himself opening the door and going into the room. He saw the marks of time on the surroundings - mostly waste, the look of the man, and the reaction he had when Philip walked towards him. Or rather, no reaction at all.

Philip saw himself kick the man as he came closer, then grab him by the collar and step over him, dropping his pants down and shoving himself in. The man keened and wailed, scrabbling on the floor, but the collar held him still and Philip fucked him until he bled. 

He came to on the bed, all his senses screaming, and as he took a breath that had no air inside it and met the light eyes staring back at him, with one more thrust he came, burying the mess between them and fucking the hard length of the Asset’s stomach as he gasped. 

The Asset shuddered, then dropped his hand to Philip’s chest as he bent his head, pushing in with small, short thrusts until he too tightened and gripped Philip’s skin, clenching his teeth as he spent himself inside the man who’d brought him here.

They lay like that for a while, neither moving.

Philip was the one to break the stillness. He wasn’t much for sentiment, except when he was, when the situation called for it. He wasn’t much for inaction, ever.

He ran his hand through the Asset’s hair and went to sit up, the Asset moving off of him even as he began to move. Philip was still breathing hard, so he waited until it was measured again, then shifted his legs over the side of the bed.

With his back to the other man, he said: “Asset.”

Philip couldn’t see him back there, but he knew there was a reaction. There was a stirring of action behind him, just waiting for the right direction.

“You’re my protector,” Philip said. “The first and best thing you are, is that.”

“You will come with me wherever I go. You will do whatever I tell you to do. And you will never disobey me.” 

The silence swam throughout the room, but Philip wasn’t concerned. He knew what his response was.

He got up from the bed and headed towards the door, treading barefoot on the floorboards. When he reached it, he turned back, finding the Asset sat ready on the sheets.

He couldn’t help himself; he grinned.

“First assignment. Feeding time.”


	15. Clot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And all the while the burning lime_   
>  _Eats flesh and bone away,_   
>  _It eats the brittle bone by night,_   
>  _And the soft flesh by the day,_   
>  _It eats the flesh and bones by turns,_   
>  _But it eats the heart alway._
> 
> \- Oscar Wilde, The Ballad Of Reading Gaol

The stench of death was almost too thick to breathe in the room that Philip had made for Penny. It was hot in Georgia, always was, so things tended to rot when you were done with them.

Heat stuck to the people, too. It glued the residents of Woodbury to the square as Philip stood at the top of the platform, reeling off a speech about who Penny was, who Penny had been, while a man who’d once been a priest held a bible. Philip had chosen some words out of there to be read, and the priest read them well. The residents were in tears, or close to, and Philip watched them when he wasn’t stood strong and lax - the embodiment of leadership. He did not break down when they buried what Penny was now - a bow from her hair, her favourite book - because her body wasn’t there to be buried.

He did not lose himself when the priest finished and the crowds looked to him. He had made his peace. It just happened to have been earlier than this lot.

“She was my daughter,” Philip said, stepping forward to address them. “There wasn’t a single soul in this world I would have prized over hers.”

He bowed his head, like he was struggling to hold himself back. People looked away.

Philip touched two fingers to his lips then he pressed them to the box. The ribbon stared up at him, a shocking bright pink in a world of brown. Philip stood aside and let the priest ramble on the way they always did.

While he waited, he looked up at the sky. It was a muzzy blue, the kind that happened when it was too hot to really bear going outside. Still, Philip could take it. He’d grown up without AC and he’d live without it.

When the funeral was finished, he stepped down from the platform and spoke to the residents. Everyone had a word for him. They’d felt his absence in the four days he’d been gone - had it really only been four days? To those that were worried about water and food, he gave confidence. To those that said words about his daughter, he made some reflective thought back. Everyone wanted a piece of him.

He waved someone over who was standing right at the back, hiding in the shadows. People hushed right up when he came over.

“Gemma, this is Charlie,” Philip said, in such a way that everyone heard it, putting his arm around the Asset’s shoulders. As if he had only just noticed the interest, Philip then spoke to the crowd. “I know summa you have been wondering who this is. Now’s your chance to get to know him. I don’t want any secrets anymore. If we’re going to be a community, we have to be honest with each other.”

People nodded and murmured, but none moved forward. Eventually, Gemma gave a little smile and stepped forward, holding out her hand. “Hi, Charlie,” she said, like they knew each other a bit better than that. “Nice to meet you.”

The tension broke after that. Philip knew it would. He knew they’d all want a piece, just like they’d all wanted him.

He couldn’t have stayed in the shadows like that for too long. People talked. People wondered. As they settled down, they began to think things about their neighbours that wouldn’t do if Philip was to be their leader. He needed them to think a certain way, then shut up. The best way to do that was by giving them what they thought they wanted: a variation on opening up.

Philip had prepped the Asset beforehand, but he hadn’t prepared him all the way. They hadn’t worked on things like basic human contact and conversation; most of the time Philip forgot he was there until he needed him. And also... Philip wanted to throw him in at the deep end a little bit. The Asset was more attractive when he was afraid.

He made friends pretty quickly, Philip noted, as the people surrounded him. They seemed to realise he was delicate in some way, and only interacted with him one or two at a time, with maybe one other chiming in now and then. Philip spoke with the priest but his mind was over there, watching, listening, waiting.

When the time came for him to cut off access, the crowd was more relaxed and easy around the Asset. Some had left when they saw him, some earlier than that, but most hadn’t, and Philip strode in to invite himself and the Asset to Gemma’s place for lunch.

Ben couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around the fact that they were allowed to speak to the Asset now, or that he might even speak back. “Charlie” was, to his credit, doing Philip proud. Rather than run his mouth or even guess too much at what he had to say, the Asset kept checking back with his owner to see whether what he had said was right or not.

Gemma thanked Philip ten minutes later in the kitchen, and when he asked what for she looked surprised. “Well, he’s very upset about... about Penny. She was his best friend. It’s good to get him talking again.”

Philip nodded, and, without showing it outwardly, inwardly cursed himself. He had to be more careful. In that moment, he had forgotten that Penny was supposed to be dead.

“You alright?” Gemma said, leaning against the counter. She was close to him, Philip realised. Very close. He dropped his gaze and glanced away, one hand rising to brush against his own jaw.

Then he looked back at her. His eyes, by anyone’s standard, were haggard and sad. “I’ve been better,” he said, in a strangled voice, managing a small, fake smile.

Her brow creased in response and she came forward, reaching her arms up around him. “Oh Philip,” she said, pressing her head against his shoulder. He held her like that for a moment longer than was strictly necessary, then let her go, and she stepped back.

“Promise me you’ll come over if it gets too much, okay?” she said, still eyeing him with concern from under her mascara.

“I will,” Philip said, having to avert his eyes so that they could not reveal him. Gemma squeezed his arm and he headed past, back into the dining room, leaving her behind so that they did not both come out at once.

The Asset’s voice was melodic. That was what Philip had forgotten, leaving all this time without ever really speaking to him. Hearing it now, he wanted to bury it in his mouth and consume it so that no one else here could. It was  _his,_  after all,  _his._

“The wine, James,” Philip said, and took it as the Asset passed it over. He filled up his and Gemma’s glasses, then, out of curiosity, the Asset’s. When Gemma came back in and clocked the wine in the glass sat before the Asset, she faltered.

“Oh, you don’t have to drink that-”

“It’s fine,” said the Asset, leaving just enough of a pause that he wasn’t interrupting but could still stop Gemma from taking it away. He smiled. “I haven’t tasted wine in years.”

Just the sound of it was enough to make Philip shiver. He wasn’t sure whether it was the sound of the Asset’s voice or what he was saying; both, probably.

“Thank the apocalypse for small miracles,” Philip said, taking hold of his glass and raising it. The corners of his mouth drew down ever so slightly then, and his voice lowered. Sombered.

“To Penny,” he said. “And everyone else we’ve lost.”

The adults around the table nodded and drank. Ben mirrored them exactly.

 

-

 

“I want Martinez back onboard,” Philip said as he strode down the street, Merle in tow. The Asset followed quietly at his side. “Bring him up to speed. We need all the men we can get.”

They turned onto the courtyard where the funeral platform had been erected. Philip casually slipped past it.

“An’ what do I tell him?” Merle said.

That didn’t sound right to Philip. He stopped their little party for a moment, pulling into the alcove of one of the empty houses and turning to Merle. “You bring him back,” he said.

Martinez had been walking fine now for a while. Maybe he couldn’t run a marathon, but Philip was betting that most of the men he had brought into this town couldn’t either. What he needed was firepower, and weapons were useless without people to fire them.

And Philip knew he intimidated Martinez. Somehow or other, that man could see through the veil that most others couldn’t. He didn’t like what he could see there, but he was smart enough not to piss it off.

“The sooner we find more food, the sooner everyone’s rations can go up, and the sooner everyone’s rations go up, the sooner people forget that they’re rations.” Philip’s voice was low, but he stepped towards Merle to say it. Merle, appropriately, backed off.

As soon as he did, Philip smiled and spread out his hands. “Let the women  _grow_  the food,” he said. “The men can  _hunt._ ”

He had been dozing in a kind of quiet daze for the past week, sitting in his house. To outsiders, it would’ve looked like nothing; probably good old-fashioned grief, but on the inside, where Philip had been, it had been a kind of impotent mania.

There had been nothing he could do to stop Penny from turning. Then there was nothing he could do to punish the Asset that wouldn’t resolve in his un-timely death. The people of Woodbury wanted stability and there was nothing he could do about that, either.

So he had sat and thought, and delved, and thought.

Now, out of the house and fresh out of his worries, he was working like an over-stocked steam train trying to burn all the fuel he had gathered. He was putting his plans into action.

First thought of the day: food. The dead, as strong as they were, needed food. They fed on flesh, so, on the first day back from the hell where he had been, Philip sent the Asset out to hunt.

It hadn’t taken him long. There were plenty of animals still running wild out in the woods that clustered near the town. The Asset brought back half a deer and Penny had it for breakfast, lunch and dinner. They even saved some for themselves, after. Waste not want not.

The second thought of the day had been the town. It was true that they were lacking in several amenities that the people were used to, back when they had a society to get used to living in. Philip wasn’t about to make a priority out of the electric bill, but he did know one thing: they needed supplies. Simple things, like tanks to hold water, food to survive on, and guns to protect themselves. Vehicles, if they could find them, would help with all three.

So he made a party. He grouped together six able-bodied men who were all of a similar ilk, and he sent them out to work. Merle stood in the lead and Martinez went along too. It was just like going back to basics.

But he didn’t need them to hunt wild animals or search the surrounding towns for scraps. No, if they wanted to find real food, real weapons, they needed to know where all of it had gone. They needed to hunt down the people.

At first, Philip told them to be lenient. Take not what they need to survive. Grab what they have that could help us, but leave the rest for them.

That worked well for a few weeks. Then, though, people started to wise up and a couple men came back with bullet holes in them. That was when Philip’s order changed.

He went out with them sometimes, when he wasn’t otherwise occupied. Sometimes they picked off one person from the group and he had them brought back to his Overlook, where they could keep them until they spilled the beans about the rest of their group.

Sometimes they asked first and drew weapons later. Mostly, they did the opposite.

It was a successful method, and Woodbury of Atlanta began to thrive.

The third thought, the one that had soared around his head and ate away at all the goodness of his heart, was the Asset.

It was part of what kept him rooted to that chair all four days. He couldn’t crack it - he wanted to kill him, but that would’ve meant losing him, and Philip wasn’t so mad with rage that he didn’t know the consequences of that.

Sometimes, he wanted to torture him. When Penny groaned and snapped inside her room - inside her cage - he felt the blindness grow behind his eyes and sought him out, whether he was in town or out. Philip found him like an owner with a misbehaving dog, or maybe it was that the Asset always came back to him, he wasn’t sure.

When they met - when the Asset saw the blood in his eyes - the results were never good. Occasionally they fucked: Philip pinning him down in the dust and shoving himself in until the Asset howled, because he knew that that was what Philip liked to hear. Most of the time, though, the Asset would slink into step beside Philip when he was in one of these moods, and lead him to someone he could take out his anger on.

Whether that was some unprepared stranger, lost in the woods, or a biter that lurched towards its targets, unaware that it was the prey in this fight. Philip fucked those a couple times too, like he couldn’t help himself. Like the only thing better than killing was fucking them too.

They ended up on the road sometimes. They were starting to get cars from the places Philip’s group raided, and he took one out every now and then just looking, looking for something. Maybe he was searching for a reason why he felt the way he did. Maybe he was just looking for the best way to tear it out.

The Asset found him in a factory, once. It was old, mostly cement, and full of broken glass and dust. Biters cackled and bit somewhere within it; wherever they were, they couldn’t get to them.

Philip was kneeling down on the floor, with his back to him.

Sensitive to his master’s commands, the Asset came forward and knelt down next to him. He said nothing, because nothing was often what best fit the situation when Philip went out on the hunt.

“Look,” Philip said.

He looked. Lying in front of Philip, skinny and with one leg twisted the wrong way, was the little blond puppy that Penny had named. It looked as if it had been there for a while.

“She brought it to the fight,” the Asset said, as they stared down at its body. “It ran away.”

The rest of its siblings were running wild all over Woodbury now. They were skinny, small little things, and they fought over the smallest bit of food. Most of the residents were afraid of them.

They were much bigger than this.

Philip didn’t move. He looked like he couldn’t. The Asset leaned forward and gathered it up, holding it on his lap. It was very stiff.

“I want to take it back,” Philip said, at last.

The Asset stood, and held out a hand to prompt Philip to go just as much as it was to help him up. He held the puppy in the crook of his other arm.

When Philip got up, the Asset saw that he had been crying. He leaned forward again and touched his lips to Philip’s, very lightly.

That seemed to bring Philip back. They went out to the car and Philip drove them back, saying nothing the whole way, but he did wipe off his eyes.

 

-

 

When Philip announced their new electric system, months after they had acquired someone with the skills needed to put it into place, the town cheered. He flooded the square with light like a celebrity turning on the Christmas display.

“People!” he called out. “Of Woodbury...”

There was a collective shout among them. Philip smiled into the crowd.

“It’s been a long year.”

The Asset was stood next to Gemma, below the stage. It turned out that they had stuck together, or rather, Gemma had stuck to the Asset, making him part of her daily life. Like she saw him as some kind of project to help build on and improve, or just care for like she did Ben, but in a different way.

“We’ve had our ups-” Philip gestured into the air. They’d all had some alcohol. “And downs.” 

His voice grew somber. “Losses, we could not avoid.” Saying that, his eyes grazed, very briefly, over the Asset’s in the front row.

He turned his attention back to the crowd. “But TONIGHT, is not the night for reminiscing. It’s the night for CELEBRATION!”

Frowns turned to applause, gloom to cheers and high-pitched whistles. People even stamped their feet in agreement, kicking up dust.

“So,” Philip went on. “Some of you will remember, back when we moved in... that we had a  _tradition_ -” Someone shouted something indiscernible. “That we had to cut short.”

Those who had been there from the beginning knew what was coming next. Even those who weren’t had some idea. Word had gotten around.

Philip’s smile turned into a fully-toothed grin. “Well tonight, as a special surprise for ALL of Woodbury, there won’t just be a  _party._ ” He laughed; some of the men joined in with him. “There’s gonna be something you’ll NEVER forget. Woodbury, I bring you...”

He stepped aside and swept his arm outward. “THE RING. OF. DEATH.”

The crowd lost it.

 

-

 

They were better prepared this time. Philip knew what riled his people up; it was the same thing that brought  _his_  blood up, even though it wasn’t real.

“Get ready!” he called into the sidelines as he swept past, heading towards the stands. His audience had gathered ready.

They didn’t have any music anymore. It seemed too tacky, like it took away some of the grit from the real performers. And Philip knew he had real performers.

Since “Charlie”’s assimilation into civilian life, apart from Philip’s direction and solo missions, he hadn’t used any of his previously displayed skills in front of people. This wasn’t something that Philip was keen to change; in fact, he liked having a bodyguard that no one really knew was a bodyguard. He liked a lot of things about the Asset.

Part of him was almost disappointed that he wouldn’t get to see that fire tonight.

When Philip judged that the moment was right, he strode into the ring. Torches burned around its outside along with floodlights that lit up the whole area. He clapped his hands together, watching the people turn towards him.

“Cesar Martinez will be your host tonight. Let’s give him a real welcome!” The audience whooped and Philip joined in the clapping, stepping off to the side to let Martinez take over the circus.

The audience wouldn’t know the biter’s teeth and fingernails were pulled out. It was supposed to look real. Woodbury’s people were afraid of the outside world - they knew its dangers and they weren’t courageous enough to take the risk of venturing out there.

Just knowing, though, was not enough to really be afraid. Philip had started to notice stirrings of interest among the younger, fitter members of Woodbury, with some of them even making it up and over the walls. He’d sent the Asset out to find them, but they had managed to find death themselves, which made for a useful warning for all those thinking of joining them.

No, knowing about danger wasn’t enough. The residents of Woodbury had to  _see_ it.

Martinez strode in, shirtless and sweating already. Summer was in full swing. 

“ALRIGHT WOODBURY!” he yelled. Woodbury yelled back.

Merle came in the other end, and Martinez spun around, pointing at him. “HOW MANY OF YOU WANT TO SEE ME  _KICK. HIS. ASS.”_  

The majority of Woodbury did. It was why Philip hadn’t let Merle take this one. People liked to see a guy not all of them liked get his ass beat, and Merle could prove himself by fighting better than he ever could on the streets.

“Oh-ho-ho,” Merle said, stepping forward and shrugging off his sweatshirt. “You wanna try that, pretty boy?”

Martinez put his fists up and all the lights went out except for the torches. Then, one by one, the audience started to notice the biters come in.

Philip could tell when it happened. They screamed. People reacted in a ripple, spreading the fear and confusion before it hit them, then reacting all over again when they saw what it was. Philip waited a moment, then flicked the floodlights back on.

The audience froze. It didn’t make sense, what they were seeing. There were six biters walking towards the ring, but, no- they were being  _pushed_. There were clamps around their necks and they were being marched forward, growling and swiping, towards where Martinez and Merle stood.

The moment the audience’s attention fell on them, Merle drew back his arm and punched Martinez square in the chest, sending him to the ground. “You got nothing in yeh, huh? Nothing at all?” 

The music clicked back on and, as one, the biter handlers began fastening their charges to a series of chains that ran around the ring. One post, one chain, for each biter. As each one was secured, the biters stumbled to the end of their leash and grabbed for the two combatants.

Merle took full advantage of the distraction and kicked Martinez in the ribs. “WoooooooHOO!”

It halted them all for a moment. Then, just as the audience was trying to decide whether to stay or run, Martinez snuck a look at Merle from the ground. Already celebrating his victory, Merle raised his fist towards the crowd, and in that moment Martinez swung a leg out and dropped Merle to the floor.

That was all it took. Martinez stood up and spat on Merle’s shoulder. “Like I’d lose that quick to you, asshole.”

It turned out, the people of Woodbury loved the sight of danger. Tied up, half-throttled and unable to kill their prey, the biters were true entertainment. They made the scuffle going on at the centre that much more exhilarating, because of the threat lurking right at the edge.

Occasionally Merle or Martinez would get pushed back or stumble into the arms of a waiting biter, and then their opponent would attack both of them. At the end of the match, Merle even grabbed Martinez around the waist and spun them both around, Martinez kicking out at every biter that went by. The crowd loved it.

Merle won. Of course he did. He had to, if he wanted to win the devotion of Woodbury. The entire performance had been structured that way, give or take a little animosity between them. Both Philip and Merle got on better nowadays with Martinez. He was smart, and he had beefed up like he wanted to protect himself, but he was also ex-military and ex-military knew how to obey.

The leg didn’t bother him anymore, as far as Philip knew. He’d recruited him as soon as Martinez could walk again and now used him as a hunt party leader. They needed biters for these performances, so Martinez’s party was in charge of catching those. They needed supplies too and Martinez had been tested enough that Philip was happy for him to join in on their supply runs. 

Whether he enjoyed doing the work or not, Philip didn’t care. So long as he was willing to get it done, that was enough. He thought the same of most of the people under Martinez.

Merle was his second-in-command. Philip fielded almost everything through him. From his construction plans to his ideas for improvements, Merle was where he went to instigate them.

There was a certain two-way relationship in this instance. Merle wasn’t, after all, the kind of man that didn’t like what he saw when he looked at Philip, so that afforded him some leeway. Philip took some advice and occasionally Merle would bring up personal enquiries from one person or the next. Mostly, though, the villagers came to him. He liked it that way. Made him more approachable.

While Martinez had mostly been on bed-rest while Woodbury had built itself up, Merle had been one of the grunts on the ground floor, so he remembered the way Philip used to use the Asset. He wasn’t fooled by the integration into society the way most of the rest were fooled, and he didn’t want to coddle and take care of him the way Gemma did. 

There was a level of respect there, from that particular kernel of knowledge, that meant Philip was more patient with Merle than he would’ve been otherwise. And there was always a door open - one door - that Merle never tried to take. Philip knew it was there. Merle knew it was there. Neither of them made any attempt to shut it.

Nobody, however - nobody except the Asset - knew about Penny. To the rest of Woodbury, she had died that day, but to her family, she was still very much alive. Fractious and hungry and demanding, she was so very much in this world that it sometimes hurt Philip to keep her locked away.

Still, he spent a lot of time with her. He or the Asset always brought her meat to keep her going every day. Philip fed her from a plate, tying her hair back from her face so that she wouldn’t dirty it. Her spasming hands couldn’t hold her fork, so Philip held it for her, gently placing each mouthful on her tongue so that she didn’t cut herself on the utensil.

Penny snapped at it most times anyway.

When they were done with dinner, Philip put her cutlery away and brought her out into the room, sitting her on his lap and reading her a story. They had covered all the children’s books in Woodbury, so he was currently reading her A Tale of Two Cities. When she was out like this, she always wore a long-sleeved t-shirt with the sleeves wrapped around the back so that she couldn’t grab anything, and she had a mouthguard around her teeth. Still, she did like to gum his ear when he had her this close. It was very sweet.

“A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other,” Philip said, in the long shadows of the electric light. ”A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest-”

The door opened.

Immediately, Philip stood up and Penny snarled, sliding sideways into the chair. His hand went to the gun at his hip and he was about to draw it when he saw who it was.

“You need to knock,” Philip spat. His heart was beating around his ears.

“You would not know who I was,” the Asset replied, slipping into the room and closing the door behind him. His eyes fell on Penny for a fraction of a second, then flew to Philip.

They stood there for a moment looking at each other the way Merle and Martinez had in the ring. Then, Philip forced himself to unwind. His hand left his gun, but he didn’t smile.

“What have you come for?” he started to ask, glancing around for the book he had thrown to the floor.

The Asset stepped forward and kept on coming, grabbing Philip’s collar with both hands and dragging him close. “You,” he said, and kissed him.


	16. Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He is at peace—this wretched man—_   
>  _At peace, or will be soon:_   
>  _There is no thing to make him mad,_   
>  _Nor does Terror walk at noon,_   
>  _For the lampless Earth in which he lies_   
>  _Has neither Sun nor Moon._
> 
> \- Oscar Wilde, The Ballad Of Reading Gaol

It took Philip a couple moments to adjust. He wasn’t used to people getting the jump on him; it was usually the other way round, and better.

Finally coming to, he shoved the Asset away. Philip was busy - couldn’t the Asset see that?

Then, Philip noticed the eyes locked onto his face. They were full of something Philip had never seen before, or if he had, it had been in such small glimpses that he had brushed it off. Here, though, it could not be denied. The Asset looked… alive.

Unfazed by the rejection, the Asset dropped to his knees and reached for Philip’s belt, his hands pulling away at the buckle before Philip even had time to process it.

He almost stopped him, and then-

He thought,  _why not?_

Reaching down to get a grip on the back of the Asset’s neck, Philip half-guided, half-dragged the man back, so that they were out of the sightline of the armchair. He may have been busy, but he didn’t want Penny to  _watch_. Something about that idea sent worms crawling in his stomach cavity.

When they were far enough away, Philip halted, and the Asset continued his methodical assault on Philip’s pants. Philip realised that his desk was right behind him, so he perched on the edge. It was easier, then, to watch what the Asset was doing. Easier to see his own arousal.

He wasn’t fucking around. Once Philip’s pants and underwear were shoved down just far enough that they were out of the way, the Asset took Philip’s dick in his hand and curled his fingers around it, stroking him into hardness. He leant forward and touched his lips to Philip’s thigh as he did so, forcing a surge of blood to leave Philip’s brain and pool downward. The Asset had a real way with his hands.

When he had Philip good and ready, the Asset shuffled forward on his knees and took him into his mouth, taking a moment to get the right angle before he looked up and met Philip’s gaze. It was hot. It was really hot. The Asset’s mouth was warm, wet and slow as he slid back and forward on Philip’s erection. It brought forth an involuntary moan from his handler.

Gripping hard onto the edge of the desk with one hand, Philip reached down with his other hand. He stroked his fingers into the Asset’s hair - still long, still so soft - pushing a wave of it over the Asset’s scalp. The Asset chose that moment to take all of him in. Philip felt the dip as his cock found the Asset’s throat and kicked his hips forward, his fingers closing and unclosing with the beautifully wet sensation.

The Asset, prepared for this, didn’t choke. Philip was a little disappointed when he pulled off in one smooth line.

Still, his Asset understood that stopping was not an option. Dipping back in, he let Philip fuck his throat for a bit. Mouthes were great, but they weren’t as sensitive, or soft, or as wet as a throat, and something about the depth of control on the receiving end always got Philip off.

When the Asset drew back for the second time, Philip opened his eyes and glanced down. The Asset was dragging his tongue down, touching the length of his hard-on - almost eating it - all the way down to the base. Philip’s hand fisted in his hair and Philip pushed his face forward, until the Asset’s lips and cheek were pressed onto his cock.

He rubbed his hips in circles for a moment, telling the Asset mindless, breathless little things.  _Yeah. Take it. You like that?_

Then he dragged the Asset down lower, indicating what he wanted. Philip was about to say  _Go on_  when the Asset’s lips opened and he took one of Philip’s balls into his mouth, sucking on it. Then he drew the other in and Philip tilted his head back. “Yeahhh,” he breathed. “Like that.”

The Asset’s mouth was hot and when one of his teeth grazed Philip’s skin, it lit up Philip’s neck and back in tiny pinpricks of sweat. 

“Don’t fuckin’ bite me,” he growled, and pushed the Asset off. God, his dick _ached._  He wasn’t the hardest he’d ever been in his life, but he was hard enough that the whole thing was flushed a dark, mottled red. He pushed the tip into the Asset’s mouth and brought him down on it, dragging the Asset’s head back and forth so that he had control over how deep he went.

He could go quicker this way, and he soon felt the Asset moving just the same without any real need for his help, but Philip kept it up, because liked the tiny chokes the Asset made when his cock hit the back of his throat. He liked the blue eyes, now stained faintly with red and weeping at the corners, staring up at him. He liked the Asset’s black hair askew and his lips puffed with saliva.

It wasn’t a replacement for fucking, but it sure was good fun.

Moving his hips in tandem with the Asset’s rhythm, Philip’s world narrowed to the throb of his cock and the need in his belly, and just as he was about to blow, the Asset backed off.

Reacting fast, Philip grabbed the back of his neck and held him where he was, curling his other fingers around his dick and stroking himself quickly until he came, painting a pretty picture all over the Asset’s face.

Tight-handed and coiled up, Philip eked every last drop out, rubbing the head of his cock on the Asset’s lips just to make sure. The rest of his cum lay in a sticky pattern across the Asset’s cheeks, eyelids and forehead. It was very satisfying to look at.

At the edge of his vision, Philip saw a movement, then glanced down and saw that the Asset was rubbing himself through his pants. 

Philip reached for his underwear, pulling himself back in; he drew his pants back up and buckled them.

Then he backhanded the Asset.

Cheek turned sideways, the Asset looked up at him from the floor with a mixture of lust, frustration and confusion.

“Get out,” Philip said, and when that didn’t provoke an immediate reaction, he stepped forward and said it again: “Get.” He kicked the Asset in the side. “Out.” The Asset scrambled to his feet and turned in a flurry of movement, heading for the door, but Philip caught one last glance back at him as the Asset slammed it shut.

When the Asset had gone, Philip stepped forward, spotting the discarded book on the floor. He picked it up, setting it down carefully on the sideboard.

Penny had managed to get her mouthguard off, but was otherwise unchanged from when he had left her. She wriggled in the armchair like a large tadpole, wanting to reach for him but unable, because of her shirt.

“Hey, sweetie,” Philip said, as he came towards her. She snapped in return, and Philip paused, thinking something over.

Then he turned back to the sideboard, opening one of the little drawers. He took out a packet of beef jerky and a plastic bottle filled with a bunch of white pills.

Shaking one- two of them into his hand, Philip went back towards his daughter. “It’s late now,” he said, in the same soothing voice he had always used with her. “Time for bed.”

She wriggled harder and slid across to the other side of the chair, looking at him with wild eyes. Philip sighed and opened up the jerky, taking a piece for each pill and flattening the pills into them, before he offered them to her.

Penny ate up the pieces of jerky like they were candy. It didn’t take long for the pills to take effect, slowing the incessant writhing and causing her eyelids to droop down. When she was fully under, Philip picked her up, carrying her back into her room and her chain where she slept, oblivious and dreaming of whatever young girls dream.

 

-

 

Philip was going over a map with his men when Gemma came over the next day. They were stood in the street: him, Merle, Martinez and a handful of other men who knew how to handle a weapon and could keep their mouths shut long enough to fire them.

“Scout here-” Philip pointed to an area ten miles north of Woodbury. “And here.” His finger swept across, drawing a small semicircle. There were several towns in the area and towns were always good for finding people.

It was strange. Even when civilisation was torn from this world, mankind was still drawn back to its ruins. Like they had with Woodbury, perhaps, but Philip always thought that they weren’t trying to salvage Woodbury, but  _better_  it.

They tended to find people squatting in buildings, stockpiling food, weapons and medicine. And well, in truth, the squatters weren’t going to use it as quick or as efficiently as the people of Woodbury. They needed those supplies, and so they took them. One small stockpile at a time.

“You got enough room in that truck?” Philip asked, jerking his thumb at the sorry excuse for a jeep they were using.

Merle’s grin lit up his face. “Oh yeah.”

Philip was pretty much done by the time Gemma interrupted, but it was still an interruption.

“Philip?” came a voice behind him. Burying his flash of irritation, Philip produced a benign smile. “Hm?” he said, turning around.

She knew she was interrupting, so she was polite, but still insistent. “I was wondering if you had a minute,” she said.

“Oh, sure, sure.” Philip turned briefly back to his men to let them know when he expected them back, before Merle gave him an ironic salute and they dispersed to get themselves ready.

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting,” Gemma said as they started to walk away, side by side. She was holding one of her elbows to her ribcage like she wasn’t quite certain of her place.

“No, no, that’s fine,” Philip pasted on an even shinier smile. “Just sorting out a few last-minute details. What’s on your mind?”

“Well,” she said, and paused as they walked past someone, before she carried on. “Have you seen Charlie today? We were supposed to meet for lunch. I don’t know if he forgot, or if he was busy with you…”

“You know, I haven’t,” Philip said, then waved a hand. “But I’m sure he’s fine. You’ve seen how first-hand capable he is at taking care of himself.”

“Mmm,” Gemma said. The hand at her elbow clutched tighter.

Noticing this, Philip changed tact. “You know what?” He came to a halt in the street, chuckling at himself. “I don’t know how many times I’ve been invited to your house for dinner without once returning the favour.”

Her eyes were pained. Worried.

“Come over to my place for lunch. We can talk about it then,” Philip tried, waiting for an answer. When none came, he leaned in, mock-serious. “I have the last can of coffee in Woodbury sitting in my kitchen just waiting for two people to drink it.”

That got him a smile. Then Gemma relaxed, just a little. “Okay,” she said, after a second’s hesitation.

They started walking again, idly, both headed in the same direction.

“I just hope he isn’t upset,” Gemma said, a few minutes later. “I don’t know what I’d do.”

 

-

 

On the way back home, Philip ducked into Milton’s office. It was beginning to fill out with proper medical equipment; now that they had some electricity. Now, they could give people with the right skills the right equipment to do their jobs.

Milton wasn’t a doctor, per say, but he was a scientist. He knew enough about the pills lining pharmacy walls than Philip did, so he was useful help in the medical wing. And if Philip had a few side-projects he appreciated Milton’s assistance on, it didn’t hurt anything.

“Philip!” Milton said, jumpy as always, as Philip came in. Milton always seemed like a man who could be intimidated by something as simple as height, and, true to form, Philip towered over him.

Philip didn’t bother smiling. Milton knew him better than that.

Milton took his glasses off to clean them, putting down whatever he was working on. “I, uh- have some interesting news you might want to hear, um-” He set his glasses back on his nose. “About the bi-”

In that second, Philip stepped forward and gripped the front of Milton’s shirt, yanking him forward. He didn’t say anything. He just let the action speak for itself.

“Ah- ah,” Milton stilled and looked Philip in the eye. “The  _project_  you had me working on.”

Philip let go. Milton immediately bustled backwards, tucking his shirt back in where it had come loose. He kept one eye on Philip as he scurried around the back of his desk, though. “It’s something… rather terrifying, if I may say so. I would have come to you earlier, but I wanted to be sure.”

“Yes?” Philip said.

Milton put one hand over the other, the way he tended to when he was nervous. “You remember John Ainsley.”

Philip tilted his head. He didn’t.

“The priest,” Milton said.

The one who had presided at Penny’s funeral, all those months ago.

“I remember,” Philip said.

“Well-” Milton said. “He’s been sick, for quite some time now. It started out as a cough, but it… developed.” He paused to heave a sigh, clasping his hands together. “We have medicine, and some people with medical training, but there’s only so much we can do. We don’t have… chemotherapy.”

“Lung cancer,” Philip said.

Milton nodded. “Anyway,” he said. “I kept him here during his last few days. I wanted to make sure he went in peace - as peaceful as we can make it.”

In the silence that followed, Milton’s eyes began to dart around and his fingers crawled over each other like termites.

“What happened?” Philip wondered, stepping forward.

Milton hurriedly pushed his glasses up his nose, sweeping a hand towards the door. “See for yourself,” he said, backing well away.

The man on the gurney was almost unrecognisable from the priest who had stood solemnly on the platform with the bible in his hand, reciting words meant to comfort and heal. There were no words coming from this man’s mouth. Instead, he struggled, and gargled spit.

When Philip came forward, the man groaned. The gurney shook, and Philip saw that the man was strapped down.

Milton cleared his throat. “I, uh, this happened once before. I think. When Lester passed. People thought he’d been bitten, but when I brought the body in for examination, he had no marks on him at all.”

When Philip glanced back at him, Milton continued. “I suspect he suffered a cardiac arrest in the middle of the night. There’s no other explanation.”

Philip turned back to the priest. “You wanted to see if it would happen again,” he said, reaching for the man’s bare, mottled arm.

“I wanted to be sure.”

Philip’s fingers touched his flesh. It was clammy, cold. Almost dry.

The biter snarled at him, fighting its bonds. It was one of the most fascinating things he had ever seen.

“I’ll have to let the people know,” Philip murmured to himself as he watched the biter writhe, like Milton wasn’t even there. “Just the men. They won’t panic.”

Then he turned to face Milton and his gaze sharpened. Milton looked… afraid, but Philip wasn’t so sure that it was a fear of the biter or himself. It seemed like it was a fear of what Philip could do.

“Keep your project,” Philip said, eventually. He was right - Milton let out a breath he had been holding. Then: “Tell me about any further developments.”

“Of course,” Milton said. He seemed excited to get back to it.

Philip waited a moment longer, then Milton seemed to cotton on. “Oh! Pills,” he said, disappearing back into the office. “Did the sedative work as I hoped? Did she sleep?”

When Milton walked back into view, Philip plucked the bottle from his hand. “She did,” he said. “Deeply.”

He turned to go, and felt Milton at his heels as he headed for the door.

“If she- you- would be willing to let me… run a few tests, see how she responds, I could-”

Philip didn’t reply. He left the building without another word and slammed the door behind him.

Milton, left alone, blinked behind his glasses. “Right then,” he said.

 

-

 

Philip took the decanter out of the machine when it was ready, pouring the drink into two mugs. His coffee machine was a luxury these days; the powdered creamer packets he also had were probably worth more than the house around him.

He had prepared a little lunch: food that came from tins, supplemented with a few of the young vegetables that were beginning to come in from the Woodbury plots. They were building the basics of self-sufficiency, something that would see this town grow large and prosper long from now. At least, that was Philip’s plan.

When Gemma arrived, she inhaled deeply, before exhaling with a smile. “Now that’s something I haven’t smelled in a while,” she said.

“Folgers own,” Philip said, matching her smile. He set down her cup next to her plate and gestured to the chair. “Take a seat. I hope you like it.”

Gemma flowed down into her chair and didn’t reply until she had put the first piece of carrot into her mouth. Then, she set her cutlery down. “Philip, this is gorgeous!”

Philip inclined his head. He didn’t plant or grow anything, but people liked to pay him back for his duty any way they could and he wasn’t going to say no.

“Really,” Gemma said, taking another bite. “I thought we were all going to get scurvy with the way things were going.”

“Vegetable plot’s coming on,” Philip said, taking a seat and tucking in himself. “Annie says we might even be good for the winter.”

“That’d be nice,” Gemma said. “I feel like I don’t know what time of year it is anymore.”

“Early fall,” Philip said, with a smile.

They ate in relative silence for a while, each of them commenting on the occasional piece of news, or the food, or the way Woodbury was headed. Philip finished first and noticed that Gemma was essentially just playing with the last few pieces rather than really eating them.

He wasn’t offended. The tangle of anxiety that had been with her earlier was back.

“You’re thinking about Charlie,” Philip said, not wanting to beat around the bush.

She jumped a little, her hand finding her elbow again. “Yes,” she said.

Philip waited for her to elaborate.

“I just-” she began. “I don’t know where I am with him. Most of the time, he’s very polite and… predictable-”

She pushed her hair out of her eyes. It was up, like it usually was, but her fringe had fallen askew over her forehead. “And then sometimes he seems like this whole different animal.”

Philip nodded, listening very intently. “He can be difficult.”

“No-” She waved her hand. “It’s not like that. He’s a good person. He just… lacks direction.”

Part of Philip - a small flame deep within his chest - flared up at that. He was not used to having his decisions being threatened.

He kept it buried. There was no need to have it out in the open.

“We can go weeks with him coming over for dinner and it’s lovely,” she said. “But then something happens - I’m not sure what - and either he avoids me or he’s barely there.”

She clarified: “You know, when everyone’s talking but he’s-” She gestured to her eyes and away. “Poof.”

“I know,” Philip said. His fingers had begun to tap softly on the table. After a moment, he shifted in his seat, resting his elbow up there too. “Does he ever tell you  _why_  he gets like that?”

Gemma shook her head. She took a sip of her coffee.

That surprised him. He leaned back a little in his chair, before he continued. “I think it’s a tie-over from what happened to him before all of this.”

She was listening. He had her attention.

“When I met him, he was in a facility,” Philip said. “Chained up, like some kind of experiment. They had special equipment in there, IVs, like they were studying him. Real, fucked-up stuff.”

Her hand clutched tighter around her cup.

Philip nodded, taking a swig of his own coffee. They were on their second cup. “He couldn’t do much, but he let me take him out of there. We brought back enough medical supplies to last us for years.”

That, at least, was true. They had kept most of the medicine the Asset had scavenged for Penny, which had amounted to a ridiculous sum, and brought it along with them to Woodbury.

Philip watched Gemma without really showing that he was watching her. He wanted to know what effect his words were having. “He must find it hard to get away from the memory,” he said. “I guess when somethin’ reminds him, he just up and disappears.”

“God.” Gemma said, exhaling.

Philip leaned back, raising his hands slightly in a universal sign of apology. “I thought it would make more sense if you knew.”

She took her time responding - putting down her cup, resting her hands around it. She tucked a stray hair back around her ear.

“I think I need to go,” she said.

It took Philip by surprise, but then he realised it made sense. She probably wanted to go somewhere else to let it all out. Women always reacted with far more emotion than he did.

“Sure, sure,” he said, getting to his feet to match her. He gestured towards the door, coming forward to see her out.

“Thanks,” she said, distractedly. She took hold of the side of the door as she slipped through it, but then paused, half in half out. She looked up at Philip and he thought he saw something of the pain in her then.

“Where did his name come from?” she asked, as the dust blew through the street behind her.

Philip gave her a look of mild confusion.

“Charlie,” Gemma stated.

Philip shrugged his left shoulder, leaning against the wall inside, then smiled at her. “Never asked,” he said. "Assumed he was born with it, like all of us.”

Gemma stayed there for a moment longer, something on her face shifting minutely like a breeze rolling sand across the desert. Then she let go of the door, turning away. 

“His real name is James,” she said.

 

-

 

After she left, Philip stood in the doorway watching the rest of Woodbury go by. His team would be due back in a few hours. Civilian life went on as it always did: people chatting, decorating, walking the single dog that had turned out alright from the litter. All of that and Philip stood still, his hands by his sides, the flame in his belly growing, and growing, and growing.

When he could move, he shut the door and went upstairs, heading into the main room where his gun was. He shoved the firearm into his belt and opened the bureau, taking out the little bottle of pills.

It was light out. So light, in fact, that part of Philip even tried to warn him against his course of action. It didn’t work. It didn’t matter. If she knew, then soon everybody would know.

Stowing the pills in his pocket, he took his coat and threw it on. Glancing one last time around the room, he saw nothing else that would help him. Without pausing for thought, he strode straight downstairs and out of the house, locking the door behind him.

Heading straight to the medical centre, Philip ran a hand through his hair and untucked his shirt. Then, as he neared the building, he broke into a half-jog.

No one was there to see him burst in. No one but the only man who could help him solve this problem as quickly and as quietly as possible.

He ran straight up to him, grabbing hold of Milton’s shirt in the exact opposite way to the manner in which he had earlier that day. “It’s my daughter!” he gasped. “She’s out of control - in the house - I can’t contain her.”

Milton’s eyes grew wide behind his glasses. “How long?!” he said. “Is it locked?”

“I just got out of there,” Philip said, lowering his head and continuing to breathe as if he had ran the whole way there, then raised it again. His eyes were swimming in a sheen of tears. “Help me, Milton.  _Please.”_

Milton backed out of his grasp, looking highly uncomfortable. “Yes, yes. What can I do?”

Philip’s face was contorted with relief. “Please. Anything. I can’t get her to eat the pills.”

It took Milton a moment, but Philip knew he hadn’t underestimated him when Milton folded his arms. “Well, I  _have_  been working on an injectable version of the sedative, but it’s in its early stages. You’d need to find a vein.”

“Anything,” Philip said. “I’ll take it.”

“Alright, alright.” Milton scurried off, looking faintly alarmed as he did so. Philip stood up straight when he’d left, squinting around the office in case there was anyone hiding, but it was empty. Save the late Reverend Ainsley, of course.

“Here you go,” Milton said, bustling back in the room. Philip immediately reassumed his persona. “It’s fast-acting, unlike the pills, so it’ll down her quickly. Just… make sure she stays where she is.”

Philip nodded up and down. “Thank you,” he said, reverently, taking the needle. “I don’t know how I can repay you.”

Milton puffed up a little. “Well, I’m sure there are ways. Something to discuss at a later date-”

Leaving him to blather, Philip ducked out and hid the needle in his hand.

 

-

 

He did go back to his house, but not for anything to do with Penny. Heading into the kitchen, Philip picked up the decanter of coffee and left again.

Finding Gemma in her own house would need luck, but whether or not she believed his story about the Asset’s origins, she would still need somewhere to compose herself. Philip was counting on lack of time preventing her from spilling her secrets.

Knocking twice on the door, Philip stepped back and composed his face into a humbled frown. When the curtain twitched, he didn’t look at it.

Gemma opened the door about halfway, glancing down at the coffee pot before fixing her gaze on him. Philip had a moment of deja vu to when she had apologised for doing the very same.

When she didn’t say anything, Philip held up the coffee. “I wanted to give you this,” he said. “No one else deserves it more than a real friend of James’.”

Confusion swirled in her eyes, but the suspicion didn’t leave. 

Cutting in before she could speak, Philip began to fill in the gaps for her. “The reason-” he chuckled, glancing down at the sidewalk. “I didn’t tell anyone about him. It was protection. They accept me in Woodbury. They like my leadership.”

He gestured with the coffee pot. “But him? They think he’s strange. Dangerous. Even though he hasn’t held a weapon in months, they see his arm. They know how he is. They treat him with fear.” Philip raised his head. “Now, if I were to say it all - reveal  _everything-_ ” He shook his head. “They would kill him. And me too, for participatin’.”

Gemma looked doubtful, but there was a hint of understanding beginning to grow in her eyes. Philip called her out on it. “You know it’s true. There are far more black-hatin’, queer-beatin’ folk out here than in fancy Brooklyn, and now there aren’t any laws around left to protect them.”

Philip held out the coffee pot again. “So I came here to see if you’ll forgive me for lying. Or if you won’t, I’d prefer to be a good neighbour than a bad one.” He smiled, tentatively.

Gemma hugged her elbow for a moment, still standing in the doorway. Philip’s brain ticked over, wondering if she knew yet more than that.

Then, she sighed. Gemma stepped back, opening the door. “Come on in then,” she said. “You don’t have to worry about-”

She gasped, clutching at her throat. Philip’s arm held fast as he brought her up against him, keeping her pinned still. He kicked the door shut.

“Shhh,” he said into her ear. 

Gemma began to sob and brought her elbow back into him, but it only served to tighten his hold. Her pulse throbbed hard against his arm and he waited, taking the blows and the struggling as her body drew her steadily towards the inevitable.

Eventually, she slumped and he brought her down onto the floor. Removing the needle from his pocket, he reached for her arm with his free hand and pulled the skin of her inner elbow taut. As naturally as if he did this every day, he found the nearest vein and pushed the needle in, aspirating it to make sure he’d hit his target.

Blood swirled red into the needle. Philip smiled, and injected the liquid.


	17. Stick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Each narrow cell in which we dwell_   
>  _Is foul and dark latrine,_   
>  _And the fetid breath of living Death_   
>  _Chokes up each grated screen,_   
>  _And all, but Lust, is turned to dust_   
>  _In Humanity’s machine._
> 
> \- Oscar Wilde, The Ballad Of Reading Gaol

Philip wasn’t wearing his coat when he came back into Milton’s office.

“Did it work?” Milton asked, from behind his desk, as if he feared Philip would leap forward and beg from him all over again.

“Perfectly,” Philip said, his eyes dropped to the desk’s surface. Papers spewed across it, covered in the scratch handwriting of their author. Philip dragged the tip of one finger over the topmost pile, wondering what secrets they held, before he straightened up and started listening again.

“-enough to keep her knocked out without hurting her,” Milton was saying. “With a light sedative combined with a muscle relaxant, she would have been unable to move while you secured her. A… brilliant combination, if I might say so myself.”

He stopped talking, giving Philip a look. It didn’t last long, though, before it melted into curiosity and Philip felt the sudden pressure of a thousand questions about to descend.

Philip shook his head and moved away, the corner of his mouth lifting up slightly when he was facing away from Milton. “How many doctors do we have?” he asked.

“One,” Milton said. Then he elaborated: “A vet. But two with medical training.”

Philip studied the wall beside the front door of the office. It was plastered white; a white that had grown faded and yellowing over the years. The cracks and curves were all the more visible for it.

“How would you like a change of career?” Philip said, still with his back to Milton.

“Well,” came the voice behind him. It left a pause, expecting Philip to fill in, before adding a small: “For what?”

“My scientific advisor.” Philip turned back to him. “You get to study what you want, when you want, but we work together on projects that would benefit the whole of Woodbury.”

“Like my-“ Milton waved a hand towards the room behind him.

“Yes,” Philip said. “Like Ainsley.”

Philip took a step forward and brought the needle out of his pocket, setting it down on the desk. “The world needs help,” he said. “I don’t know if you noticed, but most people are dead, and if we study this thing we might get the chance to save the rest of ‘em.” He smiled, wide. “Wouldn’t that be something.”

Before Milton could speak, Philip indicated the front door. “I have my men out there right now looking for equipment. If you want anything, just write it down and I’ll give it to ‘em.”

Milton looked uncertain, but it was the kind of uncertainty that gives way before greed.

“No more broken bones, Doctor.” Philip said, rapping his knuckles against the desk. He grinned wolfishly at Milton and the answer was clear before the man had even given his assent.

“You know they’re starting to call you the Governor,” Milton said, later, once they had out hashed some of the details. He was reorganizing paper into folders in an order that seemed, to Philip, to only make sense to Milton.

“So I heard,” Philip said, leaning back in his chair. “Next, they’ll be calling you Dr. Frankenstein.”

Milton laughed a little nervous laugh. “These… projects. They won’t be public knowledge, will they?”

“And panic the whole town?” Philip raised his hands. “No. Keep them in the dark until we have something concrete.”

Milton exhaled. “Good,” he said. It was clear he did not want the reputation that those hanging around Philip often seemed to acquire. “When shall I start?”

Philip smiled. “You already have!” He pushed back his chair and got to his feet, holding out his hand. Milton took it. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Milton said, thinly, but Philip could see the colour rising in his cheeks, the way his grip strengthened as Philip shook his hand. Milton was thinking about his place in the future of this town. Maybe even the world.

Truth be told, whether Milton could or could not save humanity’s rotten soul, he had proven himself useful in treating it. And if Philip couldn’t use him to suit his own purposes, he would find someone just as qualified who could.

 

-

 

The second place Philip went to was his own house, where a group of men were gathered outside his door. He gestured them inside as he walked in, guiding them to the first floor living room where they could sit down.

“I don’t bring you here often,” he began, once they were all seated. “So listen hard and listen well.”

He didn’t give them cigarettes, he didn’t give them scotch. He wanted them clear-headed, because their participation was crucial to the whole operation. Philip outlined Milton’s findings as briefly and to-the-point as possible.

“So next time you see one of our own die natural, put a blunt object in their brain. It’s kinder than letting ‘em turn.”

There were murmurs of agreement.

Someone cleared his throat and Philip turned to him. It was Merle. He held up his stump of a right hand. “Any chance yous be giving me somethin’ other than a limb to stick in the next guy who croaks?”

Philip gave him a winning smile. “I got something I think you might like.”

He turned back to the rest of them after they’d had a chance to digest that new piece of information. Disquieting as it was, the group was tried and tested and Philip trusted them each to give merciful violence when they were called upon.

“That’s the bad news,” he said, to some chuckles. “Here’s worse. Gemma Hart has been missing for two days. Her boy’s the one who reported her gone.”

There were some grim looks at this. Of the few that had attempted to leave Woodbury previously, none had ever been heard from again. There had been one teenager who made it back once or twice, but on his third go had disappeared, never to be seen again. Philip knew exactly where he had gone – sliced up and bleeding into his daughter’s stomach.

“I want you all out looking for her. Forget everything else. Start beyond the walls, into the forest. If she’s on foot she won’t have gone far.”

Most of the room knew that Philip was closer to Gemma than any of them, so it didn’t take much to convince them he was worried. “If she’s still alive, take good care of her,” he said, the concern evident in his voice. “If not…”

Philip’s face twisted like he’d tasted something sour. “Put a bullet in her and bring her home.”

 

-

 

The third, and final place he went, was to the Overlook.

He took a bag with him and left his house locked. He didn’t need it; he would not be returning there today.

From his pocket he brought out a key, which unlocked the first set of doors. Once those were secure behind him, he went down the dark, cold corridor towards the second set of doors – the ones that led to the main chamber.

These, too, were locked. Philip produced a key.

They swung open when he pushed and he stepped in, letting them close behind him.

The room they guarded was empty of almost everything. The old industrial equipment that had lined the space was no longer there, the desk Philip had used once or twice when he couldn’t concentrate in Woodbury had been removed – only the window to the office above was still intact. Well, that, and what Philip had built here.

Two metal poles descended from the ceiling, as they always had. Philip had only made a few minor adjustments: he had taken two chains and attached each to a pole in such a way that pulling against them did nothing but increase the frustration of the person manacled to the end of each chain.

Gemma lay in the middle of the poles. Philip could see from here that her skin was already rubbed raw from the restraints.

He didn’t speak as he came in; neither did she.

Instead, he opened the bag and dropped it on the floor, taking out a bottle of water.

“Thirsty?” he asked, shaking it.

She didn’t reply, so he unscrewed the lid, looked at it and gulped down a mouthful or two himself. Then he crossed the room, waiting for her response.

None came, even though Gemma’s eyes were fixed on his every move.

Philip gave her the option again once he reached her, holding out the bottle. When she still didn’t respond, he straightened up and tilted the bottle down, splashing her with everything that was left in it. Gemma spluttered in surprise and tried to cover herself, gasping. Philip’s expression didn’t change at all.

When the bottle was empty, Gemma looked madder still. “What the _hell?”_ she yelled.

“It’s been two days,” Philip said, mildly, as if he was talking about the weather. “I though you might want something to drink.”

He screwed the lid back on and went back to the bag, putting the empty bottle back into it. He could feel Gemma’s eyes on it and he smiled while he was turned away.

“You’re a monster,” she said, softly, and when he looked back at her she said it again. _A monster._

Philip only laughed, then bent down and upended the bag. Several things fell out.

“I’m not a monster,” he said, reaching for a few of them and putting them in his belt. “I just use the gifts God gave me the right way.”

True to his word, one of the items that had fallen out was edible. Philip picked it up and disappeared out the door for a moment, during which he enjoyed knowing that she would try to figure out how to escape, before coming back in with a chair. He sat it down facing her, then parked himself on it. The doors closed behind him.

Philip busied himself with unwrapping the lunch he had brought, waiting for another question. Gemma didn’t disappoint him this time.

“Why did you bring me here?”

She was beginning to shiver. Even with the sun still near its zenith, the dimness in the old factory was enough to quash all but a square of yellow that sank down through the gloom onto the floor.

Philip took a bite out of the food, and a small piece of hope that had been on Gemma’s face died. “Bait,” he said. “I know he’ll come back for you. He’s very loyal.”

Her eyes opened wide. “ _That’s_ what this is about? _James?”_ She looked almost… optimistic, like he had told her something good without meaning to.

Philip took another bite.

Gemma drew her legs up until she was sitting cross-legged, settling her hands in her lap. The chains jangled with every movement. “I know he’ll come back,” she said, then sighed. “But we were so _close._ ”

“I called him Asset,” Philip said, setting the food down on the floor. “He works for me.”

“Oh,” she looked away. “He may do what you make him do, but that doesn’t mean he _belongs_ to you.”

For a moment, Philip just sat there, looking at her. Seeing her now, in his fortress, chained and really completely helpless, reminded him of all the times he had been here before. He had dreamed of these circumstances, years ago. When he had been nothing and nobody and never had anywhere to take women, let alone _keep_ them.

Now that he was finally here, he felt nothing. It was fatalistically disappointing. He had done everything he had ever dreamed of, become somebody others looked up to and sought out, and here was the culmination of what he had achieved, and it was disappointing.

Still, this wasn’t what he had come for. Philip of fifteen had wanted to kill girls and keep them locked in a cage. Philip of forty four only wanted to use them to accomplish his means.

“I fucked you while you were out,” he said, abruptly. “You were the best I ever had.”

All of the confidence that had come to Gemma’s face dropped. Her legs uncrossed and she pulled her knees in on herself.

“I’ve done it before but they always wake up,” Philip continued. “Whatever Milton put in that drug, it worked. You were wet.”

“Stop it,” she said, very quietly.

“Some of them come out of it and they’re mad,” he said. “Some of them are into it. I think you were into it.”

_“Stop it.”_

“You know I did,” Philip said, staring at her. “You can feel it.”

Her face tightened, then she looked away.

He ate the rest of his food in blissful silence while they waited for James.

 

-

 

It didn’t take long. He hadn’t thought it would. With his men out there making one hell of a noise and broadcasting their intentions to all around them, Philip knew the Asset would hear them. And he’d know.

Maybe he wouldn’t at first. Maybe he would look in Gemma’s house, check around town. Try some little hideaway they both knew about, just in case.

But in the end, the Asset would be forced to confront the fact that there was nowhere else Gemma could be but in Philip’s hands. Then, he would come to him.

Philip had turned his chair to face the doors, propped open, after the first hour. It was through these that he saw what was coming.

The Asset announced his arrival by slamming open the front door. Gemma gave a little screech from behind Philip, who carried on watching.

The Asset came forward, walking square down the hallway in the swinging way he walked when he had a destination to reach. Philip stayed in his seat until the Asset reached the double doors, then stood.

“Asset,” Philip said, faintly amused.

“DON’T COME IN HERE JAMES!” Gemma cried, as soon as she saw him. “DON’T LISTEN TO HIM!”

The Asset’s eyes went to her, then flew back to Philip. He was tense, like a bow ready to fire. It reminded Philip of the way he had stormed into his house the other day.

Philip ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

“Asset,” he repeated. “I have a debt to pay you.”

“Release her,” the Asset said, in his musical way of speaking.

Philip shook his head, standing his ground. “She’s not family, remember?” he said, then: “What would Penny think if you disobeyed her father?”

The Asset’s gaze dropped down to the ground and he actually took a step back. Gemma, clearly sensing the potential for downfall, tried again. “She’s dead! She’s already dead! She doesn’t care, James, she’s gone-“

Philip turned and drew his fist back, punching her square in the jaw.

Gemma twisted sideways with the blow and dropped. She held her hand to her face, beginning to cry softly against the floor.

“That’s how easily they manipulate you,” Philip said, coming closer to the Asset. “What else did she say about me? That I’ve made you do–“ (This was in air quotes.) “Horrible things?”

The Asset looked torn. Philip, taking the advantage, brought him out of his reverie. “Help me with something.”

He brushed past the Asset and left the room, taking a right turn towards a corner that usually had nothing in it. After a few seconds, the Asset followed.

Here was the desk that Philip had removed from Gemma’s prison once he had secured her in there. It would have been too risky to leave it in. Philip took one end and waited for the Asset to take the other. When he did, they lifted it together and brought it back to its rightful place, between Gemma and the double doors.

“Sit,” Philip said, drawing up the chair. The Asset sat. It gave him an uninterrupted view of the captive of the night.

Philip stood behind him, his hands on the back of the chair. They both looked at Gemma.

“She could’ve avoided all of it if she’d stopped messin’ with you,” Philip said, with pity in his voice. “She had it out for you from the start. I didn’t see it; I trusted you to know what was right.”

_“Sto-op,”_ Gemma moaned.

“You failed me with Penny,” Philip said, with the backs of his fingers against the Asset’s back. “I hope you haven’t failed me again.”

The Asset’s breathing was shallow, airy. Philip wanted to shove his hand down the Asset’s throat.

Instead, he leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I know how you can make it up to me.”

When the Asset didn’t answer, when he didn’t ask _how_ , Philip kept going, because that was what he always did. That was simply who he was.

Philip’s hands left the back of the chair, then slid down to the Asset’s ribs, where he guided him up out of the seat and forward, across the desk. He pushed the chair aside, then leaned over the Asset, running his hands down him until they settled at the Asset’s hips. He pressed himself against him. “I’m gonna make you come until you can’t see straight,” he said into his ear.

The Asset tensed, even though he must surely have known this was coming. There was a strangled, hissed: “I can’t.”

Philip squeezed the Asset’s hips and ground his own into them. “You will,” he said. “I’ll teach you how.”

 

-

 

Five or ten feet in front of them, Gemma was still on the floor. The pain had blinded her momentarily and she had missed this strange sort of affair. It was only now that she looked up, with her head still swimming, and saw Philip taking off the other man’s clothes. Somehow that was worse than knowing everything else: seeing it for yourself.

 

-

 

It made it better: that was what Philip was quickly realising. With one captive in chains and the other in his hands, it made his success that much sweeter. It wasn’t just pleasure at seeing the Asset turn back to him – although it _was_ that – it was a base attraction towards being watched while it happened.

Philip didn’t have much room in his life for people who knew how far he would go if there were no rules binding him. If truth be told, he did not have much room for people who really knew him at all.

So this was a rare opportunity. He had always wanted to show off, and, like all manic planners, there was always a gnawing part of him that wanted to lay all of his perfectly crafted plans bare to _someone_. Even if that would ruin them.

He would allow himself the privilege. Just this once. That was what he decided.

Philip took his time with the Asset. He could afford to; no one was going to walk in, nobody had to be anywhere – they were as alone as they would ever be, and Philip had all the time in the world.

When Philip fucked him outside of Woodbury, it was often fast, harsh sex that didn’t leave much room for comfort. Most of the time the Asset didn’t even come. It was Philip’s satisfaction that was important: these were usually the result of someone inward war that needed to explode out of Philip in the least harmful way possible.

The Asset took it. The Asset was very loyal.

When Philip had relieved him of his pants, his briefs and (Philip had to see that arm) his shirt, Philip bent him forward over the desk. His hand stole downwards, sliding over the Asset’s hip and around his cock, playing with it, coaxing it. He didn’t make a quick, half-assed attempt at getting the Asset hard, he just relaxed there, rubbing his hips against the Asset’s ass and softly massaging his cock. Philip ran his teeth over the bone at the base of the Asset’s neck and sucked the skin there, staring over his shoulder at Gemma. He could go on like this forever.

“Turn around,” Philip said, after five or eight minutes. The Asset wasn’t soft anymore, but he still had a ways to go, and Philip knew how to get him there. He knew what to do.

The moment the Asset obeyed, Philip knelt down and, looking up at the Asset, took him into his mouth. The Asset gasped, almost wriggling out of Philip’s grip, like he had had no idea that was coming. Philip’s dick gave a low throb and he laughed without taking his mouth off. He knew it would work.

Philip wasn’t as practised with this as he was with fucking, but he knew the hold he had over the Asset. If nothing else, that would be enough. The Asset clearly hadn’t had a blowjob in a while and it showed: it was even easier than Philip thought it would be to get him hard.

When Philip stood up again, he and the Asset were face to face. Philip leaned forward and kissed him, cupping his face with one hand and gripping his hip with the other. The Asset’s tongue was hot and Philip almost jumped at the touch of the Asset’s cock on his stomach. It made him kiss harder, leaning the Asset back over the desk and closing his eyes. He did love this part.

When he had had enough, they broke apart and Philip rolled him over onto his belly again. It wouldn’t be enough for the Asset to get worked up by Philip with just the end facing Gemma – it needed to be the whole time. Philip wanted to brand that image onto the back of the Asset’s eyes.

She was looking at them now. When the Asset turned back to her, she looked away. She didn’t want to be here – Philip could see it – she was embarrassed. That was the best part – that it made her that uncomfortable. Philip thought of all the moments he had thought about fucking her – and the one moment he did – and put all of that arousal into the finger that went into the Asset.

The Asset was probably expecting that. What he wouldn’t be expecting was the ease with which it slid in and out again. Philip had meant what he said. He wanted the Asset to enjoy it.

He turned his knuckle so that he could get as deep as possible, then joined the first finger with a second. The Asset lay still on his belly, but Philip could feel him from the inside and he wasn’t at all still in there. He stroked his fingers towards the Asset’s prostate, rubbing his fingertips against it in circles, and the Asset buckled slowly, unwillingly, into thin air.

“You’re so turned on,” Philip murmured into his ear. “You want this.”

The Asset half shook his head, like he couldn’t quite get grounded. Philip knew why; he rubbed his prostate again, massaging it again like he had the Asset’s cock – only this time there was an instant response. Philip knew how much effort it would be taking to hold back the reaction he was seeing; he suspected there was much more hiding under the surface.

Removing both fingers, Philip pushed into him – and against him – with three. He was unable to reach where he had before, but it didn’t matter. He slipped his other hand around and grasped the Asset’s cock, stroking it for him. Whatever the Asset’s misgivings, he was still hard. Begging for it, really.

This excited, it was tough for Philip not to rush. He was still wearing everything he had worn in, and he wasn’t about to take it off. All he wanted to do was stick it in him – the Asset’s pert, pale ass slick with lube just waiting for him – he closed his eyes for a moment just to breathe.

When he had control, he opened them again and unbuckled his belt, dropping it on the desk. Then he unzipped his pants and shoved his underwear down, squirting more lube into his hand and coating his erection with it. All of this prep and still they were nowhere near each other – it was maddening.

Finally, with the Asset braced on his elbows and Gemma bleeding on the floor, Philip guided his cock to the Asset’s entrance and _pushed_ –

The Asset whimpered.

God, it was incredible. He was sweating just from the effort of holding back and he couldn’t help but push all the way in, as far as he could go, before pulling out all the way, then shoving back in and pumping once, twice.

“Christ,” Philip breathed, and when he pulled out this time he felt something even better: the Asset was pushing back into him. Something red hot darted through Philip.

He stepped back and slapped the Asset’s ass. “You like that?” he said. “You like that, you little bitch?”

The Asset shuddered: Philip _saw_ it. He slapped him again, then dove back in and gripped the Asset’s hips hard as he thrust into him, again and again.

He saw Gemma out the corner of his eye then, staring at him with some kind of impotent horror on her face. Philip grinned at her. Something about that seemed to horrify her even more.

Philip let up the pace after a minute or two, until he was only thrusting in very slowly. He leaned forward, settling his hands on the Asset’s shoulders, his left thumb biting into scar tissue. “See what I coulda had you do?” he said, softly.

The Asset clearly took another look at Gemma, because he then ducked his head down until his forehead was pressed against the desk. “You’re family,” Philip continued. “You, me and Penny. We’re the ones that matter.” He thrust in again, as if to make his point. The Asset’s breath hitched.

Philip’s mouth found the Asset’s neck and he pushed aside the Asset’s hair to get at it. “You’re the most important one of all,” he said. “You’re my Asset.”

He gripped him around the middle, wrapping himself tight around the Asset’s body, then shoved them both forward and _up._ Then his hips relaxed and they sank back, then he pushed them forward again. Soon, without really thinking about it, Philip was truly fucking him, his hips working hard as he rutted into the Asset’s ass. He hoped his fingers were leaving bruises.

Even the Asset couldn’t hide his reactions under an assault like that. His fingers – flesh and metal – dug into the wood of the table, his breath turned into little hisses, and where Philip’s hands were holding his pelvis the Asset was hot, solid, flushed. Philip knew he was very hard.

Philip didn’t have long. It had been right to use the lube – it made the Asset lose his control in a way that drove Philip mad, but it also meant that he had to last longer. Philip wasn’t so used to that. When people were particularly resistant to giving in, they always needed so much more.

Returning to slower, deeper thrusts, Philip loosened his grip, stroking one hand up the Asset’s sweat-tinged back. His thumb touched the Asset’s neck, then his fingers snaked through the Asset’s hair.

Bracing his other hand on the Asset’s hip, Philip used the grip he had on the Asset’s hair to pull the Asset’s head back. Even if the Asset closed his eyes now, he’d still be facing their prisoner. He would see her.

And she would see him. Sweating, half-boneless in the hands of his owner. Philip wanted to make sure she saw every second of that.

Slowly increasing the speed of his thrusts again, Philip drew the Asset back so that he could reach his ear. He knew it would hurt.

“You’re _mine,”_ he murmured. “My Asset. My soldier. My toy.”

He let go of his hair suddenly, and the Asset fell forward with a cry.

Philip followed it up with a cuff to the Asset’s shoulder, seizing his skin roughly with both hands. “Don’t you _ever_ fucking forget that,” he growled, digging his fingernails in.

The Asset shook his head, rapidly. Something soared inside Philip at that.

He lowered himself against the Asset, finding the marks where he had sank his fingers in and biting on instead. With his free hand, he reached downward – the Asset jumped when Philip brushed his erection – encircling the shaft and teasing upward – once, twice.

The Asset made a noise that wouldn’t have been out of place in porn: a long _ohhh_ that came out almost involuntarily. Philip took the hint and did it again, curving his hand so that his whole palm rubbed flat across the head on every stroke. The Asset arched into his hand.

“Who the fuck are you?” Philip growled.

The Asset’s hips kicked forward, then his whole body seemed to stretch as Philip’s hand slowed. “Yours,” he choked out. “Yours.”

Philip grabbed his hair again, pulling his head up. “Tell her,” he said.

The Asset kept his eyes open – Philip could tell by the shadows the dark feathers of his eyelashes made on his cheeks. Like a good boy, he said again: “Yours; yours.”

Philip’s hand sped up and he matched the pace inside him. The Asset was making these little huffs of noise on every thrust: he was the hottest thing Philip had ever seen.

Tilting the Asset’s head back further, Philip bit into his earlobe and the Asset gasped. His cock spasmed in Philip’s hand and he came every bit as forcefully as Philip had intended, covering the floor in a wet handful of come.

Philip’s hips kept on moving inside him. He was smiling without meaning to, he realised. He was very pleased with himself.

In reality, Philip could have come a long time ago, and without this much purpose he surely would have. But he wasn’t done yet, and with his blood surging beneath his skin and his mind telling him everything was right in the world, he pulled out of the Asset, took the knife from his belt and, with two strides around the desk, he buried it in Gemma’s throat.


	18. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In Reading gaol by Reading town_   
>  _There is a pit of shame,_   
>  _And in it lies a wretched man_   
>  _Eaten by teeth of flame,_   
>  _In burning winding-sheet he lies,_   
>  _And his grave has got no name._
> 
> _And there, till Christ call forth the dead,_   
>  _In silence let him lie:_   
>  _No need to waste the foolish tear,_   
>  _Or heave the windy sigh:_   
>  _The man had killed the thing he loved,_   
>  _And so he had to die._
> 
> \- Oscar Wilde, The Ballad Of Reading Gaol

_“No----“_ the Asset breathed.

He pushed the desk aside and leapt over, crouching at Gemma’s side. His hand covered her throat – the entry and exit wound, gaping, like a tongue – as blood gushed out. Philip had severed an artery and, this side of the apocalypse, even the Asset knew that there was no chance for her. No ambulances were left, no hospitals. No emergency surgery.

The Asset’s hands grew dark and wet. His naked body stuck to Gemma’s blood like a white lily dipped in oil.

Behind him, Philip laughed.

 

-

 

All at once, the Asset changed. Or, well, he didn’t, because he had walked in fired up to the heavens and this was just a continuation of that fire. Philip was looking at Gemma and laughing, and then he was looking at the ceiling.

The pain came second.

Above him, as Philip attempted to sit up, the Asset spun and kicked Philip’s wrist with a loud _CRACK._ The knife span across the floor. Philip’s wrist settled at an odd angle, and then that was on fire too.

He smiled. He couldn’t help it. Like a martyr laying bare his sins, Philip held up his other hand in the same way, on the other side, and left himself utterly vulnerable. He did not have to fight back or even to try; he knew he had won.

The Asset bent down over him.

His knuckles smashed against the side of Philip’s face, then the other fist on the other side. The Asset beat him until even _his_ knuckles were bleeding, then he grabbed Philip’s hair on his forehead and shoved his head back against the floor.

Through all of this, Philip was dimly aware that the Asset was screaming. It was a faint, pointless sort of sound, like tinny music on a fairground ride. He laughed back, and that changed the beating into something bordering on hysteria. Philip made no attempt to fight back.

The last thing he saw were wild eyes, staring at him through thin strands of dark, black hair. Then, into the welcoming arms of black.

 

-

 

When Philip woke, he smiled. He ached like hell and his head felt like someone had stuck it in a vice and turned the mechanism tight, but he was alive. The Asset hadn’t been trying to kill him.

Philip knew that the Asset would have wanted to.

He sat up, his vision swimming, and touched the back of his hand to his mouth. It came away red. Then he replaced his hand with his tongue, dipping it into the split lip the Asset had given him.

Looking down at himself, most of his clothes were darker than they had been before, where Gemma’s blood had sank in. He ran his fingernails over a small, crusting patch, and realised that he had come somewhere between killing her and blacking out. He wondered if the Asset had noticed. Whether he had encouraged it.

When his head stopped spinning, he got to his feet, leaning against the desk for support. Gemma’s body had disappeared, which wasn’t much of a surprise. He shuffled over to where it had been and pressed his hand against the wall, taking a well-deserved piss.

He grunted as it poured out of him, beginning to feel all the places where he hurt now that the muscles, the tendons, the bones, were being used. He spat out a bloody tooth onto the floor. Molar.

When he was done, Philip zipped up his pants and buckled his belt again. He was already fully clothed; he hadn’t taken anything off to fuck the Asset. He hadn’t needed to.

His gun was in its holster. His knife was god knows where. Teetering just a little bit, Philip left the room and went away.

There was a stream fifty or so feet behind his house. Philip crouched down and splashed his face with water, then his hands, his wrist giving him a long twinge. His reflection looked back at him, tousled and wet and crusted at the edges. The insides of his fingernails were black.

He didn’t jump when a fence clattered behind him. The noise was followed by a growl – several growls, that rose in chorus. It was Philip’s supply of biters, probably going crazy with the smell of fresh blood. They were caged in against the side of the warehouse and were almost never fed. Philip needed them hungry for the ring.

He took the bucket that stood in the shade beside them and brought it with him back to the house. He started whistling an old tune as he opened the gate and closed it behind him again, heading up to the back door.

The yard out here was barely alive. It was either sparse and dead or overgrown, with nothing in between. That should change, Philip thought, as he glanced at it. Penny could come out with him here if it was habitable, on good days, and a patio rather than dry earth would be easier to clean. He would look into that.

Shutting the door behind him, Philip headed upstairs and unlocked the main part of the house. He set the bucket down as he went to his desk, taking out the journal that lay in the desk drawer and opening it to the right page.

To most people, the series of thin black lines would have looked incomprehensible, but this was Philip’s calendar.

Scratching off another line at the end of many, Philip flipped back several pages until he reached Penny’s name. Then he traced the names up until he found a space, left for precisely this reason. Into the space, he wrote _Gemma._

He hesitated, but didn’t write anything more. Instead, he shut the journal and picked up the bucket, opening the door to the next room.

It had become its own animal in the time since Penny’s accident. No longer the home of a litter of puppies, the room was very bare. But for a chair and an end table, there was nothing else in the way of furniture, save the fishtanks. Philip had filled each of these with water and connected them up to filters he had found in Petsmart to prevent them from becoming stagnant. They were all empty, except for one, and bathed the whole room in an eerie green light.

In the tank nearest Penny’s antechamber, a small, stiff little body floated in the bubbling water. Philip had brought it back from the warehouse after he and the Asset had found it.

Maybe this room wasn’t the home of a whole litter anymore, but it still had one.

Still whistling, Philip set down the bucket and reached for the key around his neck. “Sorry it’s not as fresh as usual, sweetheart. Daddy’s short of time today,” he said as he slid the key into the lock. The lock gave a funny _click_ _click_ as it turned and Philip glanced at it, but it unlocked just fine and let him open the door as he always did.

There, in the darkness of the closet, lay the chain Philip kept Penny tied to, the sack he kept over her head, and the jacket he had brought her. That was all.

Philip looked at them for a moment, without saying anything.

Then he shut the door, removed the lock and sat down in his chair.

 

-

 

“Penny, this here’s Philip. He’s your uncle.”

She was barely three years old and showed it, wrapped up in an oversized dress. She stood on her short legs like a breath of wind would knock her over.

Brian held her hand out – clasped to his hand – and she immediately stuck her other thumb in her mouth. Philip glanced back at Ella, then knelt down on the floor so he wouldn’t seem so tall.

“Hi Penny,” he said, very softly. “You’re a sweet girl. Do you want a cookie?”

Now chewing on her fingers as well as her thumb, Penny looked up at Brian with her wide, scared eyes. He looked away.

Philip reached out his hand, coming a little closer. “Daddy can have a cookie too if he wants,” he said, still addressing Penny. “Do you want to come into the kitchen?”

She looked at him, knowing – oh, he wondered how she knew – that Brian wouldn’t be much help. Then she nodded, slowly.

Philip turned over his hand so it was palm up and she let go of Brian’s hand, then took his. Philip stood up carefully and gave her a smile, before he began to walk her into the kitchen. “What’s your favourite?” he asked. “Chocolate chip?”

Behind him, he could hear Brian talking to Ella.

_… not for long, only– without Charlee … have ta find work … y’know how it is …_

Philip opened the cookie jar and looked down at the little girl still holding fast onto his hand. This long since childhood, he had forgotten the smell that clung to kids who came from the place he had long since left behind.

Something twitched in his maladjusted heart and he didn’t smile. Instead, he held her hand too, and didn’t even notice her father leave.

 

-

 

The Asset had her. James – whoever he was – had his Penny, like she was worth some piss-stain of a woman they’d only known for a year.

How could this have happened? Philip had broken him. He had flushed out the misplaced attachment to Gemma and remade their bond, like he always did. He had given the Asset what he wanted and what he really needed. Philip had been expecting some violence, but not this. This was way too far.

For the first time, Philip wondered if he really knew him. The thought was, unexpectedly, frightening. And the Asset had all he ever needed to bring Philip running, just as Philip had brought him back when he had wanted him.

It was the same tactic. Philip had just never expected it to be used against him.

His hand darting down to check the weight of the gun at his waist, he stood up. He suddenly couldn’t stand to be in that room any longer; the swimming green light was making him sick.

He stumbled out of there, jarring his wrist on the door frame and breathing hard, empty gasps of air. The smell of the half-rotten meat slid through the door and he gagged, spitting saliva out onto the floor. He blinked until his eyes were clear then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He had to go find her.

 

-

 

Dishevelled and only half there, Philip lurched around Woodbury. Those who saw him, disappeared, avoiding even his gaze like it could be catching. There weren’t many. It was still early morning.

He checked everywhere he had checked the night she died, knowing, somewhere deep, that she wouldn’t be in any of the places he had gone before. He didn’t even bother with Milton.

His feet trundled him through town, past the ring and past the line of houses, until he stilled before the last one on the end.

He looked down. The coffee pot was still there.

Raising his fist – without even knowing why – he knocked at the door.

No one answered. He opened the door and stepped inside, without taking out his gun.

He stepped into the living room. “Asset?” he called, looking around. He checked the small kitchen, then went around all the rooms on the lower floor. There wasn’t even a drop of blood.

Philip looked up the stairs with a little trepidation. He couldn’t quite explain it to himself; it was like the whole house had been pulled out from under him and he couldn’t get his bearings. It wasn’t like him. It wasn’t _him._

“Asset?” he called again, as he started climbing the stairs. He almost felt strangely… wrong, wearing the clothes with Gemma’s blood on them, like he had been or was about to be caught by someone.

There were three bedrooms at the top of the steps, and one bathroom. Philip opened this first, leaning in slowly as if a body was about to jump out at him. Nothing.

The first bedroom was empty too. The second bedroom was covered in blood.

It looked like a scene from a horror movie. The blood was concentrated on the bed, where it had sank in through the mattress, turning it pink on the outside. Philip blinked and he saw his daughter there, writhing, but she wasn’t really there.

Finally, he turned to the last bedroom, whose door was shut, and hesitated.

“Asset?” he said, without opening it.

“… James?”

No one answered, and Philip wet his lip before he pushed down the handle and opened the door.

For a moment, there was too much light in the room and he squinted, before his eyes adjusted and he could see the scene in front of him.

The window was open: that was why it was so bright. The room faced east and the sun reached in during the morning. The Asset was sat on the ledge of the window, holding Penny in his arms and looking out.

All of the air went out of Philip.

He didn’t even move further into the room. He just stood there, with his hand on the door.

“James?” he said.

“You’ve never called me that,” the Asset answered, without looking. “Why start now?”

Philip tried to reply, but his tongue twisted over the words. Letting go of the door, he still didn’t dare to move. “Please don’t hurt her,” he said, eventually.

“You already did,” the Asset said, like he was discussing something as light as the weather. “So much. You’ve hurt everyone.”

“Don’t punish her for me,” Philip said, taking a step forward, before he stilled in his tracks as the Asset turned to look at him.

Within those deep, sorrowful eyes, he saw everything he had ever needed to know.

He also saw the knife he had shoved into Gemma’s throat, glinting next to Penny’s head.

Philip didn’t move an inch. “Please,” he said. “Please.”

The Asset looked away from him again. Philip caught a glance through the window and realised the Asset could have watched Philip walk straight out of the Overlook from here. He probably did.

“You didn’t care-“ The Asset’s voice had started to shake. “When she died. You didn’t care. It was all some game to you.”

Philip was about to retort when he realised where the Asset was looking; realised he didn’t mean Penny. He had no argument for that.

“Why did you care about her?” Philip asked instead, taking another step closer.

The Asset huffed a deep sigh, which surprised him. He didn’t say anything else.

“Why do this for her?” Philip said. “You only met her a year ago, and only really a couple months ago. She was a stranger.”

“She was NICE TO ME!” the Asset shouted; a strangled sort of yelp. “She LISTENED to me. She CARED ABOUT ME.”

He breathed hard after he’d said it, like that had taken more effort than anything he had ever done. Philip had rarely seen him exert himself to that point before.

“She didn’t want me to _serve_ her. She didn’t want me to do anything. She was nice,” the Asset said, bitterly, as he turned to face Philip. “And you killed her.”

“I didn’t know,” Philip said, holding up his hands, but the Asset interrupted.

“Of course you knew. You hated her for it. And as soon as you knew for sure, you–“ The Asset couldn’t finish what he had been about to say. He didn’t have to. They both knew what he meant.

“Why did I have to be _yours?_ Why couldn’t–?“ The Asset lapsed into silence.

Philip just stood there. The gun on his hip was loaded, but it seemed worthless to use against the man in front of him. “Those people, back in Atlanta,” Philip began to say, “they were looking for you. You used to be with them.”

They had never talked about it before.

The Asset still said nothing; only moved his head, up and down.

“Why?” Philip said.

For a minute, he thought he wasn’t going to get an answer, but then the Asset gave him a smile that was about a thousand miles beyond a smile. “Because they didn’t give me a choice,” he said, simply.

A breeze rolled by through the window. The knife flashed in the sunlight.

“Are you gonna kill her?” Philip said.

“I don’t know,” the Asset said, looking away, then down at her. “She’s already dead.”

“I know,” Philip said. He blinked and his eyes filled up like the fishtanks. “I know.”

The Asset looked over his shoulder at Philip, who had sank down to the floor, and his voice grew softer, gentler. “Do you want me to?” he asked.

Philip shook his head: once, twice. _No. No._

The Asset sighed again, and looked away.

“What can I do,” Philip said, a few minutes later, “to stop you?”

The Asset almost laughed in response. There was this faint, crackling sort of motion across his shoulders – clothed, now – and his mouth crooked upward at one corner. Philip didn’t think he had noticed it.

“They say no one can,” the Asset said, eventually, as he hugged Penny in a little tighter.

Philip realised his hands were shaking when he reached for the holster at his belt, pulling out his gun. He held it awkwardly in his left hand, supported by the shambles of his right.

The Asset only looked at him, full of agony and hardship. Then his eyes fell to the gun, and Philip realised he looked almost longing.

He couldn’t fire it. He didn’t know why he couldn’t. Penny would have survived the fall – it would take a blow harder than that to the head to finish her off, and the Asset seemed almost to want him to try, but Philip couldn’t squeeze the trigger. He realised after a moment: he didn’t want to.

Instead, he put the gun on the floor and closed his eyes, bending over his knee and pressing his forehead against it, his face wet. It reminded him of something long ago, something he could not name.

“Weren’t we good sometimes?” Philip said, against his trouser leg. Then he lifted his head. “In the beginning?”

The Asset didn’t look at him and Philip felt an immediate and overwhelming sense of guilt. He remembered Gemma’s blood again and felt even worse. It was like being five again, knowing he’d been found out and getting cut down to size.

“Family.” the Asset said, like he was sounding out the word. Then: “It’s not what you say it is. Family doesn’t have conditions.”

“We could try again,” Philip said, grasping at straws. “You could do it, leading us. I don’t know what I’m doing, really. I really don’t–“

“I have a family,” the Asset said.

He looked over at Philip, then back out the window, and said it again, like he had decided for himself. “I have a family.”

The Asset looked down at Penny, still tucked under his arm. She had been amazingly quiet during their conversation and was still quiet, making very tiny sounds. The Asset brought her upward and kissed her head, still covered in thin blonde hair. He said something to her that Philip didn’t quite catch.

Then he raised his head again and looked out over the world outside. “I’m going to find my family,” he said.

“Wait,” Philip said, getting to his feet, the gun forgotten. The Asset glanced down outside and Philip ran forward. “WAIT!”

He lurched forward and grabbed hold of the Asset’s sleeve as he dropped, tearing off a handful of fabric that did nothing to slow the Asset’s descent.

He had left Penny behind, sitting on the window ledge like nothing had happened. Philip grabbed her by the waist and pulled her in, until she was safe again.

They stood both at the window, staring past the overgrown yard and the loom of the Overlook. The Asset was heading for the woods, where he and Philip had gone to so many times before.

Philip couldn’t take his eyes off him. He wanted to go, he wanted to stop the man in his tracks, but he couldn’t. Instead he stood there with Penny and watched, until James disappeared into the trees.

 

-

 

When Gemma’s house was clean, and the place she had died in was too, and Penny was secure in her room again, Philip went back out to the stream behind their house.

He had watched the Asset walk past it when he left, but there were no tracks. There wouldn’t be, Philip knew, and he smiled but no one was around to see it.

Kneeling down beside the water, he dug in his pocket with his left hand. His right was now in a cast: the town vet’s version of a fix. They couldn’t perform surgery on it, but the vet reckoned it would heal up just fine once she set it in place and asked him three times how he broke it.

He wasn’t supposed to get it wet, but he didn’t really care. He took one end of the torn piece of shirt in his left hand and the other in his right and dipped it in the water, flipping it over and rubbing it between his fingers until there was no longer anything red running from it.

Then he wrung it out and laid it underneath the skin of his right arm, where the cast ended, tying it up as best as he could with his left hand.

There. It wasn’t pretty, but it sat around his arm just fine. Tightening the ends of it with his teeth, Philip saw something move at the edge of the treeline.

He leapt to his feet and stared out at the woods, waiting and listening.

When nothing stirred he breathed again, sticking his hand in his pocket. The moment he did so, something crashed in the undergrowth and a biter came out, spying him from its position a hundred feet away and beginning its slow march towards him.

He didn’t panic. It would take a while.

As he turned away and found the path back home, Philip started to let himself think ahead. They had already announced Gemma’s death – she had been in the bedroom ensuite, laid out in the bath and dormant before the turn, so Philip had carried her out of town for his men to find and brought biters to eat away the evidence.

Penny had been easier to deal with. The reason she had been so quiet had become clear once Philip had looked at her: her mouth was red with blood and flesh hung from her teeth. On the windowsill, she had been eating him.

Now that Philip was down a man (and maybe it was more than that, maybe not), Philip had found it difficult to plan in the same way that he had before. It wasn’t that he relied upon the Asset to do the work for him, because for months the Asset had been living as a civilian without any combat and they had barely shared a conversation at all.

It wasn’t that he needed the Asset’s company, either, although maybe it was closer to that. After all, sometimes Philip needed risk and the Asset had always provided that. Philip was safer, when around him. He never needed to worry about getting bit.

Trying to plan for the future without a safety net beside him, Philip was quickly discovering, was a whole different ballgame.

It brought him back to Atlanta, when it had just been him and Penny, and he had been helpless. It brought him back to when Ella died. It brought him back to the day he couldn’t hide behind Brian anymore.

He almost wished the Asset would come back and erase it all. It would be easy. Living was harder.

But he wouldn’t, and he didn’t, and gradually Woodbury grew as it always would. It moved on from Gemma as it moved on from everyone else and Philip turned his attention to other things.

The day a group of travellers moved into a prison miles from town, he set the final patio stone into place and sat in his yard for the first time. He invited Merle over to celebrate, though he didn’t say why, and they had a good time, drinking and laughing until the sun went down.

When two of the newcomers found Woodbury, Philip greeted them in person. He was very interested in this group of survivors who had lived outside of the boundaries of the town, partially because they were mad to try it, and partially because he yearned to go back to it.

When they brought their guns and their firepower into play, it was like coming alive again. Through the flashbang fog around the ring, Philip smiled like he hadn’t smiled in months, even though his people were screaming. He had been waiting for a purpose to find him again. He just hadn’t thought it would take this long.


End file.
